I keep typing things I want to say and then deleting them because they are too much. I want to be encouraging. If other people, depressed people, find this blog while looking for exercise tips (in the random way I've found some other exercise blogs) I want them to see exercise does help. It does help. Exercise is supposed to fucking help.
|Two Miles. I ran it. Slowly.|
Wednesday. Nervous, I'm supposed to be hearing back about a job. She said she'd check my references yesterday and text me a tentative schedule. No text yet.
I have to get this damn two mile run done. So I went out and...in the middle of the pre-run stretches I realize I forgot to put a sports bra on. I have a sports tank on, with a shelf bra, but this is not enough support. Great. Fucking great. Just run. So I run. I'm miserable. Physically I'm fine except for the hard breathing (due to smoking...it's tolerable for now, just annoying) and the mucous in my throat (same reason, spit and move on) and the ever-present pulling down feeling in my shins. Mentally...I hate this, I hate this, I hate this. I want to go home. I want to go home. I want to go home the whole damn time.
At 1.7 miles (the twenty minute mark) I'm begging to go home and nearly crying. I honestly don't know why I wasn't actually crying. At that point I didn't even care if anyone saw me. I would've felt BETTER if I could cry. But I couldn't get any tears out.
Well, I just would've dehydrated anyway. I really wanted to stop. I had even resolved to stop. "I'm going to stop. I don't have to keep going, you can't make me. Twenty minutes is enough. I can stop if I want. I'm stopping; I'm walking home now."
Please realize, I'm arguing with myself, in my head, at this point.
I didn't stop. I kept running past the corner. "But if I stop, the miles win," I wailed in my head. "The miles win? What the fuck? They're miles! They're not sentient! They don't win! I'm going home at Oak. I don't want to go past Oak, you can't make me. That's twenty-eight minutes, that's enough!"
But I went past Oak. I went past Oak up to Hickory. "You gave birth twice! That was a lot harder! You can do this." "Fuck that shit! It's not like you get a choice in childbirth! The kid comes out! I want to go home!" "Christ, shut up, we're almost there." "I hate you for making me do this."
Onto Cleveland and back down to Oak to home. I did the whole two long, hateful, fuck you, miles. Thirty-five minutes. Approximately. Somewhere on Hickory I managed to accidentally hit the stop button on the chronograph so I don't have an exact minutes and seconds time, but I know when I started.
|Ben Kane, dressed as a Roman, walking Hadrian's wall.|
Two miles from the end. This is something I want to do.
Except not dressed as a Roman. Just in regular clothes.
Christ, I want a fucking cigarette. I don't have any left. I have to go to the gas station if I want some.
I don't want to go out again. I'm having a very bad day. A very bad day.
It's a battle for the ages. My "drop-kick an orphan" desire to have cigarette versus my "whimpering ball of snot" desire to not leave the house again today.
I found this Diet & Exercise Diary that I bought on clearance last year and never started. I'm starting it Monday. I'm filling in the preliminary goal stuff today. I'm not going to bother counting carbs and calories and fat grams, but I do want to track what I eat. Am I getting enough veggies, how did what I ate yesterday affect my workout today, how much caffeine am I taking in, how much water...like that.
There is space for strength training, cardio training, and "incidental" exercise, which I guess means things like when I visit my Twin in DeKalb and we take an impromptu walk around town.
This diary also has places to record sleep and sleep quality, appetite, stress, mood, and energy levels, and injuries or illnesses. I like that. That's probably why I bought it in the first place.
So I'm trying to be happy that I just ran two miles with almost no physical pain. I should be proud. I should be proud and happy. I'm trying. It's not working very well.