The Post-Apocalyptic Workout

Day 73: Challenge One = FAIL?

You be the judge.

The preceding broadcast can be viewed at blip.tv or YouTube!

Details on the next challenge Faster Slackmistress! Kill! Kill! coming...soon.

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 22: Checkin' In.

I woke up to the sound of rain and wondered how I'd make it to the gym.  After all, I would have to:

1. Get to the car. (Nearly twenty feet away!  OUTSIDE! Where there was rain!)
2. Drive.  (Through the rain!)
3. Find a parking space. (In the rain!)
4. Walk to the gym. (Possibly up to two blocks!  In the...well, you know.)

Because I am a Post-Apocalyptic Warrior not entirely a wuss too mortified not to go because I'm playing in front of a live studio audience, I hopped to it.  Upper body workout +  week four of the Couch-to-5K Run = one tired slackmistress.

But not too tired for a post-gym dispatch:

 

Day 15: Anyone Out There?

Today marks the beginning of week three.

It also marks the end of the this-isn't-so-bad part of the running portion of the challenge. 

Yes, I am admitting IN A PUBLIC FORUM that while I can walk from here to Cincinnati (okay, I don't know that I can) running for three minutes in a row is exhausting.  I know that it doesn't help that I've got a pair of 34DDDs strapped to my chest (extra fat stores to stave off post-apocalyptic starvation?  Or am I looking at post-apocalyptic table dancing in my future?) and two bras (one normal, one bionic) are required to keep the girls from looking like a couple of puppies playing on a waterbed. 

The soreness from lifting is just starting to go away but I'm still exhausted as I haven't adjusted to my punishing schedule (as my lack of daily updates may indicate.)   The scale tells me that I've shaved off a couple of pounds and my endurance has definitely improved. 

But if you asked me to run for my life, I might just ask you for a glass of wine and a cigarette to toast my impending demise. 

How're you?

Day 12: The Day After.

I finally felt well enough to venture from my cocoon of blankets and TheraFlu to brave the wilds of the gym and pick up on Week 2 of the Couch-to-5K as well as lift.  Shockingly, I was given my space to work out and return home.  I guess my reputation precedes me.   

Today's workout - and previous gym jaunts - take me just under an hour.  One hour.  I know that we have children and husbands and wives and pets and plants and scarves to knit and episodes of Law & Order to watch, but one hour isn't a huge time commitment.  Trust me, when you're trying to haul ass from those 28-Days-Later zombies, you'll be thanking me.  (Or screaming at me to wait up.  Sorry, Zombie Chow.)

A reader (whose email I will get to, I'm not ignoring you, je promis) asked me what I listen to when I work out.  The answer to that is...nothing.  While it would certainly be more enjoyable to plug in and tune out,  I actually prefer to concentrate on what I'm doing.  The downside of that is that sometimes you're subjected to the idiocy of the chick on the treadmill next to you yapping into her cell phone or the 80's metal band turned ALL THE WAY UP so the bald guys in their Zubaz can headbang and reminisce about when they had hair. 

But think about it this way: you don't get to decide who survives, post-apocalypse.  Chances are it's not gonna be your BFF.  It's going to be that snotty barista who always asks you pointedly 'are you sure you don't want nonfat milk?' and invites you to his warrior-poet-slam even though you're pretty sure he's even less a poet that a warrior.  Trust me, the ability to tune people out will be vital.

...

And finally, because you asked: the PAW Home Game!  Keep track of your workouts, hook up with people in your area, and be a general nuisance on the Post-Apocalyptic Workout Forum.  Currently, ads are enabled to offset some of the small costs to upkeep this site, but supposedly there's a way to disable them when you register.   Have...fun?

Day 3: Training for the End of the World.

Today, as the calendar* dictates, was a lifting/running day.  I learned on Sunday that the running plan I'm using bases training on distance or time. I decided to use the time component, as all it required was a watch.  Except on Sunday I realized: I don't wear a watch.  I managed to dig out my "Bunnysutra" Swatch watch from a few years back:

Precisely why I'm Zombie Fodder in the next Apocalypse.

The Couch-to-5K plan starts out with ninety seconds of jogging interspersed with sixty seconds of running.  This watch didn't even have a secondhand.  So today, I ran on the treadmill after I lifted at the gym.

As I set up the safety rails in the squat rack before my workout, a Personal Trainer approached me.

Personal Trainer:  Miss?  That's the squat rack.

Me: Uh-huh.

Personal Trainer: Were you wanting to use that?

Me: Yes.

Personal Trainer: For what?

Me: Um, to squat?**

Personal Trainer: Oh, are you training for something?

Me: Yup.

Personal Trainer: What?

Me: The end of the world.

He backed away slowly.

I don't think anyone at the gym will be bothering me again.

*If I don't post for a day, it doesn't mean I didn't train that day.   If I miss a workout, I'll come here and fess up why.  Ideally it won't be due to zombie attack or bird flu, but never count it out.  I do live in Los Angeles, after all.

**If you've never squatted before, please check out Mistress Krista's insanely informative articles on safety, training and form starting here.

The Post-Apocalyptic Workout

What the hell is this?  I'll tell you what it is:

Of course, this little social experiment depends on a whole host of factors: time, money, a true lack of actual nightmare scenarios, that sort of thing.  It's not about fitting into a size two or filming myself eating bugs (not gonna happen) or going into full "Survivorman" mode.  It's about learning how to carry my own weight - figuratively and literally.  I've created a list that's linked under "the workout" there to your left.  It's by no means an exhaustive list, and I imagine I'll be adding to it substantially as the year wears on.

I've envisioned this as sort of an audience-participation project, so please share your ideas, your criticisms, your input, your knowledge, and if you want to take this journey with me, please do.