Gym Rat

Congratulate me.  I’m the newest member of Gold’s Gym.

Yesterday I went to the 6^th and Congress facility over my lunch hour, and met with Sean, a frighteningly fit twentysomething.  He asked me what my goals were in joining.  I giggled demurely.  “Well, I walk five miles a day, six days a week, and I’ve been doing it since January 1st, and I bring my dog along and I write a blog about it, but it’s getting so hot that I thought….” 

He smiled tightly.  “So, you’re maybe more interested in the cardio aspect?”  “Um…yeah.  I mean, you don’t separate them out, do you?  You can’t join just to use the treadmill, right?” 

I’m sure that Sean has been asked stupider questions in his life, but this was an excellent runner-up.  He cut through the small talk, and turned to his computer.  “Why don’t I just show you the different rates and you can decide which plan works best for you.”

Let's just leave it at "I joined a gym." I'm embarrassed to admit how far afield I got from the "three month contract" I went in there seeking. I don't care.  After four or five days of blahhh, I'm excited about walking again.  I can 't tell you how dread-inducing an evening walk can seem when it's been over 100 that day. 

Over the next days and weeks, I'll be expermenting with how to blend my regular walk with the treadmill, but here's what I did today:  at 5:30 AM, walked Banks 1.3.  After work, I walked to Gold's gym (.4), did 2.9 on the treadmill, and walked back to the office to retrieve my car (another .4).  That's a little more piecemeal than I normally like, but I'm still feeling my way through this.  Today was my first day in the gym, and I felt a little at sea.  Don't know anyone, don't know the equipment, had to ask where the women's locker room was....I'll figure it out. 

Up and at 'em

Let me correct something from last night’s blog.  It wasn’t 104, it was 106.

It’s 7:06 and I’m DONE.  How wonderful that feels.  I came home dripping wet and panting, took a shower, and treated myself to a bagel – a whole bagel – with salmon cream cheese on one side and peanut butter on the other, and two huge cups of coffee.  I can handle anything, knowing that I don’t have to walk tonight when it’s, I don’t know, 95?  It’s funny, the tricks you play in your mind to stay out of a rut.  I did the tried-and-true, Banks-for-1.3-and-the-hills-for-3.7.  Usually I take the three hills in the order I come to them:  Leland, Terrace and Mary – up and down each one of them – then turn around and walk the relatively flat East Side all the way back home.  Today I walked straight to Mary, ascended and descended, then did the same with Terrace and then Leland, and had what felt like a shorter walk home on East Side.  Hey, whatever works.

All the way through my walk this morning, I had numbers running through my head.  When I join the gym, I’ll walk Banks 1.3, and do 3.7 on the treadmill.  I usually have the speed set at 3.9 or 4.0 for the walking part, which means I’ll be on there slightly less than an hour, but if I run a good part of it, that could bring it down to maybe 50 minutes.  I’ll do the outdoor walk three times a week, the treadmill the other three.  The possibilities are endless. 

I especially wanted the walk out of the way because it’s going to be another meat orgy at Fogo de Chao tonight, Sam’s long-deferred straight-A celebration with Lynn and Jeff.  Couldn’t bear to have that hanging over my head.  And I didn’t want today to be my day off, because that’s going to be tomorrow, and I AM going to the gym over my lunch hour.  I’ve been rehearsing my pitch for the last 24 hours.

Way Off

I met Brian for breakfast at a new venue this morning, the 24 Hour Diner on 6th and Lamar.  I googled the directions -- 2.5 -- perfect! I gave myself just under 45 minutes to get there on foot, because I knew that, Banks-less, I would make exceptionally good time.  The simplest route available was south on Congress, east on Oltorf, and south on Lamar, all the way to 6th.  So I couldn't understand why I got there 10 minutes late, even though I was almost running the last 6 or 7 blocks because it was already after 7:00, our meeting time.  After breakfast, Brian drove me home with the odometer zeroed, and mystery solved -- it was exactly 3.5 miles.  Actually, it was more like 3.7 because I had been forced to take the Lamar footbridge, which veered way off course and probably cost me 5-6 minutes. 

So even though I had planned to walk home after breakfast, I was way too far behind schedule by then, but at least I only have a half hour to make up tonight.  Did I mention it's 104 degrees today?  I mean it.  Tomorrow I go to Gold's Gym, just a few blocks from my office, and I am determined to come out of there with a contract. Preferably a short-term one.

I'm about to head off to Central Market for dinner with Marcy, and that reminds me of something cool that happened a couple of days ago.  Marcy is a bit of a compulsive shopper, buys things on impulse and just never gets around to returning them, preferring to gift them to friends once she's worn them once or twice. Last year she gave me a great pair of black pants, very night-timey, kind of satiny with a recessed print on them.  They were hideously small, and I put them away in my "I have a dream" drawer.  Well, the other night I put them on and the good news and bad news is, the moment has passed.  They totally fell off me when I tried to walk around in them.  I'm looking foward to gifting them to someone else.

Gym Rat

Most people hate Mondays.  I don't.  I don't think I'm a workaholic, necessarily, but I love structure, and especially when I've lived without it for a while, I welcome it.

I woke up detemined to do penance for the last couple of days.  I took my walk first thing (do I even need to add "hot and humid," even at that early hour?). I was lost in my thoughts, and wasn't paying attention to the route, and found myself completing the 1.7 route with Banks, rather than the 1.3.  That threw off the rest of the calculations, so once I released him, I walked it again (now 3.4) then went to St. Ed's (.3), walked the soccer field oval three times (1 mile), walked home (another .3, bringing the grand total to 5.0).  I was soaked when I got home. 

After two full days of awful eating, my body was CRAVING healthy fuel. I toasted a bagel and topped it with scrambled eggs, a slice of Canadian bacon and cheese, along with two cups of coffee. I don't want to hear anything about grapefruit or cottage cheese. This meal was fabulous, filling and nutritious. 

As we near the halfway point, I am just about ready to incorporate the gym thing.  This heat is sucking the joy out of my walking, and God knows Banks is flagging.  I'm getting excited about some of the perks of the gym: air conditioning, television, cute guys to look at, and machines to facilitate my vow to work on the upper body.  Best of all, I think I could fit it in over a lunch hour (maybe a half hour with Banks in the morning, and an hour in the gym?), which gives me one more daily option. Believe me, walking five at noon right now is NOT an option, and I'm getting a little tired of the panicky feeling when the night is slipping away and I haven't walked yet.

By the way, I still haven't figured out how Meredith Baxter got from here to there. 

Biscuits, Gravy and Blood Blisters

A day that starts out with biscuits and gravy is never a good day.  I know this, and yet 3-4 times a year, I start the day out with them anyway.  I certainly never have them at home, and if I’m out somewhere for breakfast, I never order them, but when your complimentary “continental breakfast” puts them right in front of you, I almost never walk away.

So predictably I felt heavy and leaden all day, but that’s because after I downed those, I ate a bagel, and a big, sugary glass of orange juice.  And on the way back to Austin, had a giant Reece’s Peanut Butter Cup.  I HATE THE WAY I EAT WHEN I’M ON THE ROAD!  What is the matter with me?

The balls of my feet were not quite as shredded as I had feared; I got home around 3:00, took a several- hours nap (driving 600 miles is exhausting), and then walked when I woke up, around 6:30.  It was a dull and perfunctory walk (biscuits and gravy have very long tentacles), but I did it.  Hot, humid, uninspired, but I did it. And though it felt okay while I was doing it, once I took the shoes off, my feet were very sore.  And when I woke up this morning, blood blisters had formed on the balls of both feet, physical reproof of my barefoot treadmill adventure two nights ago.

Tonight I went to a friend’s at 5:30 – she lives only ½ a mile away, so I walked there, and left at close to 9:00 to complete the rest of the five.  I still feel sluggish and gross, but with extra-thick socks, my sore, blistery feet were a non-issue.  Oh, and working out in the gym on Friday night?  It was disgusting.  Floor-to-ceiling mirrors on all sides. Seeing myself that upclose and personal made me vow to start working on the rest of me.  Yes, my legs are getting strong and skinny, and the rest of me is vanishing somewhat, but it’s not keeping pace with the legs.  July  1, which is next Sunday, marks the halfway point of my journey.  This second half will be a good opportunity to add in some upper body and abs work.

I’ve got to tell you a great story a client told me on Saturday.  In February, his 81-year-old mother, who takes dance class three times a week, was practicing “grapevining” down the stairs, IN HEELS, and fell.  She broke a small bone in her neck, which laid her up for a few months, but she’s back and raring to go.  She’s trying to figure out a tactful way to break up with the 88-year-old guy she’s been dating, because he just got put on oxygen, and nursing an old geezer to his grave is just not happening for her.  Life is long, and I love that she’s still living it to the fullest.  Let’s all follow her example, shall we?

The Barefoot Bicyclist

I didn't get to my motel til after 8:00, and I entered it with a heavy heart.  Today looked like the day it really might happen.  I wouldn't be able to do my walk.

Well, in a way, it has happended, but I'm refusing to see the streak as broken, even though tonight was probably more of a symbolic victory than an actual one.

As I packed this morning, I looked at my walking shoes, and at my canvas shoes, not sure which pair I would take, and put off the decision til I had the rest of the suitcase packed.  You guessed it, I forgot to pack either pair.  I was so busy today I had time only to give glancing thoughts to it here and there, but I had pretty much decided to walk in my very uncomfortable sandals if I had to.  But after a full day of work, I just didn't have the energy.  The woman checking me in brightly pointed me to the business center, the ice machines...and the fitness center.  The fitness center, of course!  Why hadn't I thought of that?

So I got down there at almost 8:45, and immediately got onto the one and only treadmill.  In my bare feet.  The floor of it was rubber, with thin vertical grooves kind of like cordoroy, and I knew there would be hell to pay tomorrow.  I stayed on it for 30 minutes and that's all I could take.  I could feel the grooves wearing into the pads of my feet, which felt bright-hot.  So I switched to the bicycle for about 20 minutes, which was easier on my feet, but boring and hard -- biking works a whole different set of muscles.

Here's where the "symbolic victory" figures in:  after I gave up on the bike, I got onto the Total Gym-type apparatus, and did some weights for both arms and legs.  Then I got down on the floor and did three sets of leg lifts on each side, and two sets of pushups.  Girl pushups.  Then I walked three flights up to my room, came down and walked three sets up again.  In other words, I did the best I could with what I had on this particular night. 

It wasn't until I was almost done that I spotted the sign on the wall.  Good thing no one came in to check on me.

On the Road Again

I screwed up again.  I was so intent on finally timing my distance -- the 1.3 with Banks (I took another slow car trip last night and settled on a new Banks route, a perfect rectangle with a circle within it, which we do twice), and the 3.7 Stacy Park hill route for me alone.  And with my infallible sense of direction, I missed a turn, had to backtrack, Banks pooped, and I had to give up on an accurate time for the 1.3.  But I took him home, and DID pay attention on the 3.7, and this time it was a couple of minutes SHORT of an hour, rather than one minute over. I've set a new goal for myself:  near the end of the year, I want to be able to cut down to an hour out there, not an hour and a half, which is going to mean doing some running.

Another road trip tomorrow, this one down south to Port Lavaca and Victoria.  I stopped at the library and picked up a couple of books on tape.  When I first started doing that, I would feel terribly pleased with myself as I chose classics like Dickens, or something that would "teach me something." The only thing I learned was that a monotonous stretch of highway and an outdated English novel had roughly the same effect as a couple of Ambien. Who was I kidding?  Today I picked up a book by Meredith Baxter. Can't wait to hear the inside scoop on the "Family Ties" cast, not to mention what made her decide she was a lesbian. That should keep me awake.