The Post-Apocalyptic Workout

Day 54: And a Dog Shall Lead Them. Maaaaaybe.

As I wrote yesterday, I'm nursing a wee bit of a wonky hip so I had to adjust my workout schedule accordingly.  Being that I'm practically at the end of week eight, that's somewhat of a bummer.  But it's a reminder that we just can't plan for everything (and the first eight-week challenge is really nine weeks, so I have some wiggle room.)

Speaking of wiggling, as I laced up my shoes to head to the gym I thought y'know, it's a beautiful day outside...  Thirty second later I was half-dressed (when I get an idea, I drop everything including trou)  at the computer, checking to see what my route should be.  My last 25-minute run covered 2.3 miles (I.R.Slow) and moments later I had a route - shorter, around two miles, as I wanted to baby my hip (not a baby on my hip - I can train for that later) and grabbed my keys when I saw...

The Sad Eyes.

The logical jump to make is to take Daisy with me.  Except that walks with Daisy are an exercise in Doggie ADD where she stops every three seconds to send pee-mail (lifting her leg to do so - my bitch is butch!) and occasionally acting like a terror when she sees a dog off leash.  Daisy, you see, is a pit bull, and while Daisy is a doll with children (hanging with my niece since she was a month old) to the old folks, Daisy is NOT a fan of other dogs.  Will and I have worked with some basic behavior modification (all positive training, a beautiful thing) so she doesn't go apeshit when she sees another dog, but there's something about dogs off leash that drives her crazy. (She takes after me this way.)  It starts with a small but discernible whine and ends up with an OMGOMGOMGOMGOMG barkmonster.    

Again, we train through all of these things.  And she's not a danger, as she is only 47 pounds and I can easily pick her up as I've had to when my neighbor's westie runs across the busy street and then attacks her. (The neighbor finds this 'funny' even when I explain that her dog is going to be pancaked by a passing car.) 

I thought to myself:

can I really run two miles outside, with people, traffic, kids playing, cracks in the sidewalk, people selling fruit on the corner, and cat calls, all while towing along my 47-pound dog who hates other dogs and likes to stop every thirteen steps to lift her leg on a tree or poop under the world's thorniest bush that I end up looking like a cutter after I extract her stinky offense in an attempt to be a good citizen?

Shockingly, the answer to that question turned out to be yes.

I started out too quickly but we eventually hit our rhythm, and I only almost got clotheslined twice.  Not too shabby for our first outing.  My hip held up until the last few blocks, but that ended up not being a issue because I outlasted my dog.

Daisy the Wonderdog, exhausted! Minutes ago.

I think I'll be working her into the next training challenge... 

Day 53: Half-Assed.

I have returned from the other side of the country tanner, fatter, and a wee bit achier as I spent ~6 hours crammed into a seat made for an anorexic midget, not to mention the spill I took when I was sprinting across the Houston Airport to make my connecting flight to Los Angeles. 

The second my Fluevog hit the overly-waxed patch of tile that I knew I'd be flying ass-over-teakettle momentarily. If I was in a movie they'd slam to a slow-motion-montage: a baby crying, a burst of light; kids on swingsets; a faucet, dripping; a flower opens, then closes, and then back to real time where my last thought was savetheMacBooksavehteMacBooksavetheMacBook. My body instinctively cocooned my precious computer cargo as my ass slammed to the floor.

Ow.

When I got back from the airport, I should have gently stretched it out, then taken a wee bit of a walk to get everything moving and limber. 

Instead, I installed myself on the couch, curled up next to the HusbandThing, and caught up on my TiVo.

Which brings me to this morning.  The hip's a little tighter, although the ass isn't so sore.  I'm scheduled to head out to the gym and do a 28-minute run. 

What I should do is warm up a little longer, maybe schedule a shorter jog today and a longer jog tomorrow.  I should take a day to stretch and work out the tightness, as it's just muscular and was compounded by a) sitting in an airplane seat and b) totally biting it on the airport floor. 

So what do I do?

I head out to the gym, walk the instructed 'brisk, 5-minute warmup' and then start to jog.

At the five minute mark, the muscles around my right hip and asscheek decide that if I won't listen to reason that they're going on an all-out protest, and not one of those non-violent protests where people light candles and hum and play hackysack and welcome you int the friendship circle, no, this is one of those protest where they get out the billy clubs and  tear gas and the attack dogs.

It looked a little something like this:

Okay, I didn't actually fall off the treadmill, but, y'know, I could've.  I walked for a bit, then gently stretched the cramp.  It still needs some work - thankfully I've got the Foam Roller of Doom (tm).  So while all y'all are showing off your "mobility" with your whole "walking on two legs," I will be rolling my right hip and corresppnding asscheek over a firm, coffee-can shaped piece of foam and swearing at the top of my lungs.

Kinky...just not the good kind.

Day 51: A Child Will Lead Them?

The above vlog can be viewed at blip.tv or YouTube!

Day 45: Workin' It.

Sunday began week seven of the Post-Apocalyptic Workout.  Let's see how I'm doing, shall we?

Previously:



Today:

(I get faster, I get stronger, I get better at looking like a complete goof in my Scorecard pictures.)

I haven't turned into Terminator 2 Linda Hamilton yet, but today I did something that I don't think I've ever done before: I ran 25 minutes.  In a row.

I imagine this doesn't sound like much to the average runner or natural athlete, but for me it's been monumental.  I've always hated running from that fated first Friday of 7th grade gym class when we had to run The Mile.  You didn't have to provide more information like that, every kid knew it and (almost) every kid dreaded it.  We were instructed to "stick with people who ran at our pace."  While I played Volleyball and Basketball, I was at the most capable of short bursts of speed.  But endurance, and the regular thump-thump-thump of my Reeboks hitting the grass behind Hadley Junior High gave me nightmares.  It was a loop around the field, then across the street into a wooded area that's since been paved over by a housing development - the only time I've been thankful for suburban sprawl.

I'd line up with "the fat kids."  Every Junior High had them, and it gave them a moment to laugh at someone else for not fitting in, and I was happy to provide the service.  My friends would always urge me to keep up with them, but at the halfway mark I'd feel my lungs ready to burst out of my chest.  The second half of the run was down a dusty path punctuated with knee-high weeds, and during the Autumn and Spring months my allergies would  protest violently.  When I crossed the finish line, I was a puffy-eyed mess of phlegm  and sweat, and as my gym teacher took down my 13+ minute time, she'd shake her head and say I know you can do better than that.

Like anyone, I have a tendency to procrastinate.  When I'm overwhelmed with too much to do, my default is to sit down and do nothing.  But it I get myself out there, if I can separate my ass from the couch I have a tendency to push myself way beyond my limits.  When I was  rocking the sub-20% bodyfat  back in 2000, eating little and working out and lifting even more, I was constantly injuring myself because I couldn't quiet that I know you can do better than that. 

I thought about that the first time I completed the 20-minute run.  It was sheer hell.  I'm screwed, I thought, but at my next run I tried something a wee bit different: I backed off the speed, and instead of starting faster and slowing down, I started slower and sped up.  That was the first run that I felt like I could be good at this.  I could get faster.  I could go longer.  I just needed to trainer smarter, not harder.

I took that with me into today's 25-minute run, and while I'm still slower than the 10-minute mile that the Couch-to-5K assumes you are, I'm gaining ground.   In six short weeks, my endurance has greatly improve, people keep remarking that I've lost a ton of weight, I'm a little sore and tired but I haven't injured myself, and I've been able to accurately judge what my body can take.

I have until the Apocalypse to get faster.  I can work on it.

...

I owe a great big Mea Culpa to the people hanging out at the PAW:Home Game Board.  To say that I have a gazillion and one commitments would be the apex of understatement, and the board is one of those things that's fallen through the cracks.  I was thinking of asking the awesome crew at the Zombie Squad if they'd take the PAW Home Game Refugees in.  What say you? 

Previous scorecards can be found here.

Day 44: In(shape)spiration.

I know I owe you a Post-Apocalyptic Scorecard.  Tomorrow, je promis. 

In the meantime:

If the first five minutes of 28 Weeks Later don't motivate you to get into run-your-ass-off-but-quick shape? 

Nothing will.

Back to the show...and see you tomorrow if the zombies don't come.

Day 39: Slick, Grace!

The question has been asked: what will I do now that the strike is over?  Will The Post-Apocalyptic Workout continue, or will I laugh into my golden chalice of unicorn juice as I send my butler to finish the remaining workouts of that pesky first challenge?

I shall continue, because the Apocalypse waits for no (wo)man!

Also, I was unemployed prior to the strike.  However, if you're thinking man, I could really use a writer with  some post-apocalyptic training, maybe a CPR certification, a couple of Teen Choice Awards and a really cool Atari 2600 Adventure shirt, don't hesitate to email me, as my career as a Diablo Cody lookalike is coming to an end.

This week marked the beginning of week six of the Couch-to-5K running plan, and I've quickly discovered that more running = less weight training for me.  I've had to back off on some poundages because the sheer act of running 20 minutes in a row (laugh it up, fuzzball!) are definitely taking their toll on my body.   As runs get longer, I'm taking more time to recover.  However, I've only been running for six weeks.  Everything I've read suggests that the body takes time to adapt, so I've gone from the honeymoon period to okay-now-this-is-a-bitch.  My endurance continues to improve, although I learned the hard way that just because I can run eight minutes at 5.5mph doesn't mean that I can run 20 minutes at that speed. 

Perhaps it was a wee bit ambitious to run/bike/lift.  Perhaps isn't even the word - it was ambitious.  I haven't been perfect with getting everything in except for the running, but I'd say that I complete about 85% of my workouts.  Not too shabby.

I'll leave you with this tidbit from the PAW's Favorite Gym Member,  I overheard yesterday.   She was on the treadmill, with the same trainer on the one next to her.  Jefferson Airplane's "White Rabbit" is blasting through the speakers of the gym.

Trainer: Do you know who this is?

Girl: Is it...Chicago?

Trainer: No, it's Jefferson Airplane. 

Girl: Oh.

Trainer: D'you know who the lead singer is?

Girl: I know this!  Mama Cass!

Trainer: No, it's Grace Slick.

Girl: Grace who?

Trainer: Grace Slick.

Girl: You made that up.

Trainer: You've never heard of Grace Slick?

Girl: I was born in 1974! I was a Nixon baby!

Trainer: Oh, well I was a Lincoln baby.

Girl: [laughs] You were not born when the first President was around!

Trainer: [beat]

Girl: Oh, duh, wait, that wasn't Lincoln.

Trainer: I didn't want to say--

Girl: Everyone knows that's Ben Franklin.

It's a good thing she's pretty.  Although post-apocalypse, that's not gonna get her as far as it does now...

Day 36: I'm Here to Help.

    1. Basic First Aid/CPR (Infant, Child, Adult)

DONE!

The above vlog can be viewed at blip.tv or YouTube!

Day 29: the Good, the Bad, & the Ugly.

I look more dorktastic than normal in this week's scorecard.  I attribute it to the oh shit, it's 7:15am on a Sunday and I have to snap this quickly before I head to the gym.


Previously:


Today:



The Good:
My endurance has definitely improved.  While my pace on the Couch-to-5K isn't the 10-minute mile they imagine you'll run, it's definitely improving.  Today began week five, and the idea of running five minutes in a row didn't inspire feelings of impending doom.  I'm getting stronger. And while some days the idea of going to the gym (or back to the gym, if I've worked that morning) make me want to stab myself in the eye, I'm going, dammit.

The Bad:
While I mentioned Friday that I want to use the scale as tool of measurement and nothing more, this morning's number was accompanied by a ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?!  UP TWO POUNDS?!  However, this is precisely why I take measurements.  Clearly something is happening, and my clothes are looser.  And I swear to you I didn't get hit in the face with a shovel, it was early and I needed to get my workout in before I headed to my new job.  (That's four, if anyone was counting.)

Currently I'm eating between 1400-2000 calories a day, with most days falling in the 1500-1600 category.  I've made the executive decision not to start my diet until the next eight-week challenge.  Because I don't wanna.  Yes, I'd like to lose some weight and it would be nice if it magically fell off my body, but it would also be wonderful if the Universe was one big Puppy Bowl (and someone dropped a bag of money off at my door.)  But in the grand scheme of things, not really a problem.  I'll get over it.   (Interspersed with periods of whining, but I bet  you guessed that already.)

The Ugly:
Guess who was back at the gym with her boyfriend this morning?  He kissed her and went to do curls in the squat rack; she took to the elliptical at the end of the row of treadmills.  She looked at him, and I smiled at her.  She turned away, clearly uncomfortable.

But not uncomfortable enough to chat with the trainer.

Trainer: You're here early.  Got plans for the Superbowl?
Girl: [indicating toward her boyfriend] He's going to a sports bar.
Trainer: You're not going with?
Girl: You couldn't pay me twelve thousand dollars to go to a sports bar.
Trainer: Twelve thousand dollars?  Really?
Girl: Really.
Trainer: I'm not a fan of sports bars, but I think my price would be less.  Maybe a thousand bucks.
Girl: Okay, twelve hundred.  But after taxes.
Trainer: You've given this some thought.
Girl: I think a lot.

At this point, I stumble and almost fall off the treadmill.  Recovering, I send a psychic message to the trainer.  JohnEdwardsJohnEdwardsJohnEdwardsJohnEdwardsJohnEdwardsJohnEdwards.

Trainer: So, your boy John Edwards dropped out of the race.

YES!

Girl: Yeah, I'm so upset.
Trainer: So who're you gonna vote for now?
Girl: I don't have a choice.
Trainer: What do you mean?
Girl: You can't vote Republican*, so you only have one choice of who you can vote for.  Which sort of  ruins the whole point of voting, because voting is all about choice.

Okay, I lied.  This last part?  Totally the good.

*For the record, I'm a Democrat.  But stupidity clearly cuts across all parties.
 

Day 28: You Gotta Go Sometime.

I woke up a bit late for spinning this morning, so I rushed into the bathroom to find my husband standing in front of the toilet.

I'M PEEING! he yelled.

No, you're not, I responded. I'm right here, there's no pee.

BECAUSE YOU'RE IN HERE.

Hey, the door was open.  I shut the door and backed out into the hallway.

I know you're still there.

I went into the bedroom, changed for class, and then approached the bathroom.  The door was open again.

All clear? I asked.

All clear, he responded. 

Good.  I washed my face and brushed my teeth quickly.

You know I can't pee with anyone watching me, he told me as I swished mouthwash, probably because I couldn't respond. 

I spat.  I know, baby, but in a Post-Apocalyptic World you may not have the privacy of a bathroom.

Then I'll hold it.  Or take one of those Pee-Shy Classes.

Pee-Shy Classes?

Yeah, where they train you to be able to pee around other people.

I raised an eyebrow, wondering if he was bullshitting me in the exact way I do to him (telling him that tug-of war was a way to settle land disputes in Colonial America, and that it was good luck to catch the foreskin at a bris.  It should be noted that this is no mark on my husband's intelligence, but my ability to sell a story.)

They really exist, he told me.

I Googled it.  Sure enough, you can learn to pee around other people by taking a Shy Bladder Workshop offered by the Shy Bladder Center.

Now I have zero issues peeing around other people, but if you do, you might think about adding that ability to your Post-Apocalyptic Arsenal.   Because no matter how much of a bad-ass you are, you gotta go sometime.

Day 27: On an Epic Scale.

I woke up the other day and hopped on the scale.  Which is what I do every day.  I try not to use the scale as one of many different tools to measure progress.  Most of the time I don't look at those three numbers as a value judgment.  Most of the time.

But the other day I was having what can only be called a "fat day*."  My period is over and done, but the accompanying weight gain is not.   As I plowed through my upper-body workout yesterday, I thought I should be so lucky to have a fat day in a Post-Apocalyptic World.  Because that meant there actually was food.  Unless, of course, I was one of the walking undead.  Oh, no more brains for me, I couldn't possibly...well, if you insist...

Speaking of food, I know from my last round of weight loss** that to get things moving, I have to cut calories hard and fast.  While I've been eating well (real food, not a lot of junk, low sugar, plenty of veggies and protein), I know that it probably won't be enough to lean me out.  In the next few weeks I'll have to sit down and figure out what exactly I want to do, although the sheer notion of recording one more thing in my life makes me want to stab myself in the eye. 

I'll figure it out.

In the meantime, for those wanting to amp up their preparedness, check out the Zombie Squad Forum!

*This isn't a value judgment about anyone else, I hope everyone understands that.

**I went from 200+ pounds in 1999 to 142 pounds in 2002.  Yes, there's been some regain but I've kept the bulk of it off for nearly six years.  Not entirely shabby.  Also while I appreciate the intention, this is not a request for dieting advice.  I have three years of painstaking food logs and the ear (not literally!) of one of the smartest fat loss guys out there.  I know what I have to do.  I just don't want to do it.