I wondered if perhaps Bubbles was trying to kill me today. In fairness to Bubbles, and all the Bubbleses of the world, I asked her to make me do what it is she is making me do, and that thing she is making me do is run. Thursday is make clickmom run day. Last spring I had this fantasy about running (instead of walking) the last 5K leg of the triathlon. Then over the summer, I got myself all psyched to do what I needed to do to work my way up to running it and didn't have what I thought was the enthusiasm to run, which actually turned out to be the early signs of the intestinal condition that side lined me for two months this fall, except I thought it was all in my head and didn't realize it was physical. So, I just resigned myself to walking. And I walked, most of it. I did run for two little tries, and my final time was faster than 4 mph, in the end I was satisfied.
So, I one day I tell Bubbles that I dream of being able to run and she suggests we work together towards a goal, say a 5K in the spring, and she prints up a little schedule for me, and we start meeting at the track and walking with little bits of runs thrown in. It's all good, well pretty good, in the back of my mind I have to block out a lot of negative self talk that suggests that a person of my size might 1. look completely foolish running 2. break her ankles/knees/hips running and 3. have a heart attack running. Also, Bubbles has about 8 ounces of fat on her and all 8 are tucked flatteringly into her sports bra, so next to her I feel even more like a Michelin Man than I would next to someone with more of a typical American sized body.
Today it was too cold for the track (for me, maybe not for someone way tougher than me, but it was for me) so we met at the posh club, where I mounted the dreaded treadmill. Folks, this is where I make my first dumb confession for this post. I fear the treadmill. Truthfully, more than the treadmill itself, I fear falling off of the treadmill. Which, if you knew me would be a distinct possibility. I am the friend who can manage to fall while standing completely still, not only that but I can also manage to break my wrist while falling when standing completely still, so me on a fast moving conveyer belt might not be your best bet if you are the one who does not want to drive a broken me to the emergency room. However, if you were my orthopedist, you would probably encourage me to spend lots of time on the treadmill.
Once in the vicinity of the treadmills, I realize I am being stared down by Bubbles. I get on the treadmill she gets on the treadmill next to mine and we commence walking. We use the lap program which I request so as not to confuse me when we get back to the track after the melt down, which hopefully happens soon. We walk a couple of laps to warm up and then instead of running half a lap (1/8 mile) like I was doing at the track, Bubbles says, let's run the whole lap. I look at her like she is crazy, suggest she tie one of the 100 pound posh club anorexics to her back just to even the score, then I force a stiff upper lip and commence running. And you know what? I did it! More than once! All together I ran around the track 3 times for a grand total of 3/4 mile of running. Not all at once mind you , I did it in four separate tries. On the first try I did a whole lap. On the second try I had to stop running and walk because (here comes embarrassing confession number two) Bubbles was trying so hard to cheer me on and remind me of things like "breathing" that I was completely distracted from the mathematical patterns I need to think about when I am doing something that is painful and in this case takes concentration (cause I didn't want to fall off!) like running or trying to ignore the dentists drill. I explained to her that I couldn't do the math I needed to do when she was talking. Since I had told her once before about my need for equations, I felt justified in shushing her and letting her know that I require silence when exerting myself on a treadmill. Bubbles tried to be quiet, really she did. Her next strategy involved huffing to remind me to breathe. (Confession number three coming right up) It gives me the willies to hear other people breathing. Not just breathing, but more the panting kind of breathing. To me it is the equivalent of a close talker. If I can hear you breathing then you need to back away from me. I silenced her by putting my pointer finger to my lips and she did the only thing she could do , she increased her own speed on her own treadmill until she was running at a challenging pace for herself. It was about a mile and a half per hour faster than my pace, but hey, I WAS STILL RUNNING! All together I did 12 laps, and I sweating like a glass of iced water in the desert. When I went into the locker room to use the potty, I saw that my face did not have the nice healthy red glow I usually have after a good spin class. I was purple. Running, even in my own special slow and timid turtle like way, had whooped me. I can't wait until next Thursday.
very interesting. tell us more about these mathematical equations and patterns.
Posted by: Laura | February 09, 2007 at 08:02 AM