Doing something about It.

It. Weight.
It. Pain in my hips and shins.
It. Self Loathing.
It. Looking in the mirror with disappointment and regret.
It. Wishing, wanting- whining.

I've been dreaming about who I could be, and what I could feel about myself.
I've had high hopes and crazy aspirations.
Diets have come and gone, exercise videos and positive encouragement too.

Tonight I started the Couch to 5K program (C25k).
I spent 30 minutes outside of my home, in the cool night air- trying not to drop dead on the pavement.
5 minutes of a brisk walk had my shins in pain, the extra oomph in my step too much to handle.
60 seconds of jogging then- and the shins began to scream.
Back to walking, 90 seconds... suddenly this didn't seem so bad.
Jogging again, another minute.
A minute and a half of walking never felt so good.
One foot in front of the other- keep jogging... 60 more seconds.
Walk now... breathe- in through the nose, out through the mouth (my gym teachers should be proud).

Each time I hit my 60 second mark, I felt a surge of pride rush through my body.
"I'm an overweight, inactive, unhealthy woman who just ran a minute!"
(Hey- it may not seem like much to you but this is a HUGE accomplishment for me.)
The 90 seconds of walking in theory seems like too much, "Oh just keep pushing- you only need a minute long rest- let it be equal!" But no, really- the 90 seconds is perfect.
Somewhere between 75 and 90, the body seems to reclaim itself- lungs no longer napalm slathered.
And back to the jog- the 60 seconds of glory.

When we hit 10 minutes I could have sworn my C25k partner was lying through his filthy little teeth,
but reassurance through sporadic breaths and a quick self calculation told me he was being honest.
I couldn't believe I'd been at it for 10 minutes without fail, without a "damn this hurts" or a "I need to sit down". I smiled (goofy as hell I'm sure), and I could feel the pain in my chest lessen. I began to focus on my heartbeat, the rhythm of my drumbeat breathing, the beautiful shadow stretched out before me beckoning forth every ounce of willpower I possessed.

Then I asked- "How.. many... more.... minutes?" staring out down the deserted road.
"Our last minute now..." my partner replied.
For a moment I thought I might cry, joy swelling in me for the simple task of picking up my damn feet.
"How about this- jog home?" He asked.
I croaked a laugh- "I can't promise anything... " I breathed heavily- "But I'll try."
I pushed my chubby little ass 90 seconds and a cramp in my left side but I just couldn't make it home.
I walked the last block still smiling- sweat dripping down my back, arms raised high above my head in glory... and a need to breathe.

The best part?
I feel wonderful.
Something else wicked cool?
I'm writing.
How much better can it get?
I'll let you know what happens the next time I "run".


5k here I come.
-Lisa