I tried to do things a little differently today before my date with the pavement. So I could become one with my body (you'd think that would be the case by default, but like I've said before, I'm wired a bit differently than most), I downloaded an app that allowed me to know just what my body parts were thinking during the jog. The best part is the body parts have no idea I'm playing Big Brother.
I've noticed on previous jogs that basically by the time I'm out of the drive way, my lungs are still asleep and I sound (and feel) like an asthmatic fighting for their next breath. However, just a few minutes later, my lungs wake and I don't die. Today, I decided to do a little warm up first. I started with a minute of jumping rope (if you haven't done this in a while, keep your comments to yourself...OMG) and followed that with a minute of walking in place (mostly because I couldn't jump rope any longer...and Tony Horton, the P90X guy, says you should walk in place for a couple minutes to warm the body).
Immediately, my phone started buzzing because the different body parts were trying to figure out what was going on. First, the legs asked the lungs what was going on, the lungs replied that they weren't sure but assumed it was time for another jog. Then the legs fired back a reply to the lungs, "wait, we just jumped rope and walked in place, isn't the exercise over?" Needless to say, there was total confusion.
I put my phone in my little running belt thing, headed out the door and started the running app. I took off on the same route as normal. I actually got past the neighbor's house today, so I continued. It wasn't long before my lungs were screaming at my legs, begging them to stop. Fortunately, the legs woke during the rope jumping and walking in place and ignored the lungs. I continued, at a seemingly slower pace, but determined to make today's trek longer than the previous day's.
At the end of the road, I turned right instead of turning around. The phone buzzed again. My legs were ready for some recliner time and asked the lungs if it was time for a coup. "Suck it, up" demanded the lungs, "we just got our second wind." I continued.
Eventually I made my way back home, with both the lungs and legs crying, nay, screaming 'uncle.' Back inside the house, I noticed the sweat just started to pour out of me. In defense of my body, it's carrying around just under 185 pounds on legs that are only built to handle 170 ( I hope the warranty hasn't been voided).
The sweat continued as I grabbed a water bottle out of the fridge to squelch the flames inside me. I wiped my forehead on my sleeve, seconds later, it was like I hadn't touched it. "Jesus Christ," I said, "seriously, am I in this bad a shape?" It was a rhetorical question, of course, the answer was painfully obvious.
I saved the workout on the phone and took a look at my stats. Keeping in mind I tried to run a slower pace so I could go a bit farther, I was pleasantly surprised with the results. I'll keep the hard numbers to myself because they're currently too embarrassing to publish, but I jogged 24% farther than the three previous days (pause so you can ponder the awesomeness of that, forgetting that when you start with little numbers it doesn't take much for a large increase in percentages) and since I started, my average speed has gone like this:
Tuesday--6.09 mph
Wednesday--6.20 mph
Thursday--6.52 mph
Friday--6.67 mph
I'm still fat, old, and exceptionally out of shape (though I can sit in a recliner and watch football on Sundays like no one's business), but I'm seeing progress. The steps are small, but they're still moving forward.
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