Finally, a win.

I’m not sure what’s wrong with me, but it has taken all my strength to get out of bed in the morning. I know I have written about my usual struggles with getting out of bed, but this is worse than the usual bouts of laziness. I am utterly exhausted. Yesterday morning, I felt like a drunk struggling to keep conscious. This morning, I had to literally force my eyes open by rubbing them. I am not a person who is usually dependent on coffee, but this morning I’m on my second cup, about ready to reach for a third. I don’t know what it is. Maybe it’s the fact that I haven’t had a restful weekend in as long as I can remember (planning and carrying out a party or family gathering may be fun, but it is anything but relaxing). Maybe it’s the awful cold that has reappeared in my system. It could be the dreary weather.

Whatever it is, all I know is I’m tired when I should be excited and energized. I am also tired of writing about my failures and struggles. I have been slacking on the posts, but not the running. I have to prove to myself that I can do the half-mile, whatever it takes. And, I have to use my best muscle, my brain. After some careful thought, I decided to switch the order of my intervals. It could be that simple. Instead of starting with the quarter mile, then running a half mile, then repeating, I am going to start with the half mile, then the quarter, then repeat. I debated a lot about whether or not this was cheating. I decided it isn’t, because I am still doing the same amount of distance, in the same amount of time.

I decided Friday, my birthday, would be the big day to try this out. I had taken the day off to run some errands. A lot of people, including my husband, assumed I was just taking a personal fun day, but the truth is I had a lot of shit to do. This “shit” included my yearly physical. Happy Fucking Birthday to me.

Now, I’m not going to go into a running monologue about what goes down in that little pleasant exam room, so you male readers can just calm down. I will leave that to my mother-in-law when she’s about three glasses of merlot deep. She’s been a nurse longer than I’ve been alive so she has some good stories. I will say that men have it way too easy.

Actually, with all the unpleasantness that does on at the doctor’s office, the part I dread most is the scale. I had started weighing myself again two weeks ago, and it was about as bad as I expected. But, I had come to terms with that number. The shock has worn off. So, I approach the scale and start shedding clothing like it’s on fire. Off with the boots, the coat, the scarf and hat. I would take off my underwear if I could. Sweatshirt, off. Take the cell phone out of my pocket, blow all the air out of my lungs, and step on.

I know that some scales differ, but the gym scale and the doctor’s scale showed about a ten pound difference. I know you can’t just dismiss ten pounds to a crappy scale. Good god, I haven’t even had birthday cake yet. My mind races. Am I pregnant? I can’t be pregnant. I haven’t even achieved my pre-baby body yet, and now I’m going to go ruin it more. Don’t I have enough stretch marks?

I curse out loud and the nurse laughs. I’m not amused. I gather up my crap and stalk into the examining room. I had prepared myself for maybe a little talk about weight, but now I’m thinking I am going to get a full lecture. I decide to be proactive and bring it up myself.

My doctor walks in and asks how I’m feeling. I tell her I feel great, except how crazy my weight is.

She doesn’t bat an eye. I know for a fact this woman schedules a patient every 15 minutes. If she works a full eight hour day, which I’m sure is a conservative number of hours, she sees 32 patients per day. According to a news article citing the Gallup-Healthways Well-Being Index, 26.5% of Americans are obese, not counting people who are just in the overweight category. So, she sees at least 8 to 9 fat asses just like me every single day. That is a very conservative number. This would explain the reaction that can almost be mistaken for boredom.

“Why is that, do you think?” she asks me.

I decide not to feed her any bullshit, because she probably doesn’t want to hear it. Plus, I only have fifteen minutes and this woman hasn’t gotten in the more invasive procedures yet. I don’t’ want her to have to rush through that.

“I cook a lot, and it’s not healthy. I eat like crap. And I love carbs,” I spout off. I leave the alcohol out of it because I told the nurse I was a social drinker. That is true, but I’m very social.

She nods to all my offenses. “Do you exercise?”

“Yes, believe it or not,” I snap. I tell her about my 5k training and she smiles.

“That’s good,” she says. “You are aware of your situation and you are working at it.”

My angelic doctor offers me some running advice and even gave me some races to look for in the spring. I am grateful, and not completely humiliated. Now that’s what I call bedside manner.

I go straight to the gym after leaving her office. On the drive over, I constantly think about that horrible number I saw in red. No wonder it’s so hard for me to do this half mile, it takes so much effort to move my massive body. It was clearly easier for me to do this when I was in college and was carrying around only about 150.

I climbed on the treadmill, determined and nervous. I am going to be relaxed and just focus on finishing. No side steps to breathe, no sips of water, an authentic finish. I put on some more chill music, CCR’s “The Old Man Down the Road”, which was more pleasant than angrily stomping through a run.

I went an agonizingly slow pace and fought temptation to go faster and get it over with. And you know what? I finished. I did the whole thing. And instead of feeling dead tired, I felt good.

After that, my quarter mile intervals seem to fly by without too much struggle. I remember the days I agonized through three minutes of running. That’s what I need to think about instead of dwelling on how hard three miles is going to be. Right now, it seems astronomical, insurmountable. But, like Lao Tzu said, “A journey of a thousand miles must begin with a single step.” It’s one of my favorite quotes that I use at work, but now I really understand it.