So, a few weeks ago, I blogged about starting C25K, and about how the first week went. The first week ended up taking us a fortnight, because things like illness and socialising got in the way. We started the second week, did the first workout, found it hard but survived - and then we didn't do any more for a month.
There was a variety of reasons. A holiday was one of them. And the reasons that stopped me blogging for a few weeks were another. But the trainers were still there in the corner of the bedroom - apart from when they came with us on holiday and sat unpacked and unloved for ten days - and we'd never planned to give up.
So after having a week post-holiday to recover from the post-holiday blues, and discovering they took the other blues away with them, we decided to get back to it.
But rather than diving back in to week two, The Husband suggested starting over, and going back to the very first workout. I wasn't overly keen but I knew he was right, and so we hit the pavements.
I'm so glad we did. Because I found it hard, but I didn't walk when I was supposed to run once - I did it all! Properly! All the tips I'd learnt also helped - not running too fast, keeping my head up, setting goals - and it felt amazing when we'd finished. And I know another week at this level will get me a bit fitter, a bit better, and hopefully the step up to next week won't be so bad this time. Which will stop me making excuses not to do it.
The Husband had done a new playlist as well. He'd taken a few tips from the slightly esoteric one I'd pulled together originally, and so we were jogging to (amongst others) Goldfrapp, Marilyn Manson, Led Zeppelin and Kenicke.
My two favourite jogging tracks at the moment are Marilyn Manson's The Beautiful People and Destiny's Child's Survivor. Make of that what you will.
So, back to it. I'm actually really looking forward to the next run, which will be after work today. And I've bought myself some dirt cheap new t-shirts and a hoody of my very own so I don't have to pinch one off The Husband as an incentive. Oh, the endless glamour.
Showing posts with label C25k. Show all posts
Showing posts with label C25k. Show all posts
Wednesday, 6 July 2011
Monday, 30 May 2011
C25k week one: ugly shoes and a radish-red face
So, I've finished week one of couch to five k.
After getting through the door, and for about an hour afterwards, my face was this colour:
The trainers are still ugly. When combined with iphones in special arm holster things and funny water bottles you can hold while you're running, bleach and paint-stained jogging bottoms and a hoody nicked off the husband, the look gets even better. And when you add a face that's the colour of a radish - and I'm not exaggerating, that's exactly the shade I go - the overall effect is not glamorous.
In terms of actual progress with the program - well, I'm getting there. You may have noticed that it's taken me more like two weeks to complete week one. That's partly because of a schedule that made a missed workout in the first week inevitable, and partly because I was ill on Monday of this week and for a couple of days walking to the bus wasn't going to happen, let alone attempting to run.
The very first time we did the workout, it was just so much harder than I was expecting. After all, I wasn't strictly on the couch - I was fitter than I had been for a while after a couple of months of working out obsessively (for me) on the Wii - and getting properly sweaty and horrible, not just fannying around. But I ran the first minute much too fast - not fast at all, but not slow enough. After that I'd knackered myself so much that I could only run for 40 seconds of the next minute. And the next, and so on. I ran for the full minute twice, and for forty seconds six times.
And you know what? I was still incredibly proud of myself. I didn't stop - either ran, or walked, but never stopped.
The second time was easier - I walked the last part of the third minute, and the final minute - I got a stitch.
Going out again this week, a week after I'd last run? Actually easier than I was expecting - I gave up during the third minute, and when confronted with a steep unpaved slope in the last minute, but also suddenly realised that I was stopping for purely psychological reasons, and that I could actually have kept going.
We realised that the gaps, and the fact I still wasn't running the full distance, meant we'd have to repeat at least some of the week, and so re-did the last session for our last session.
This was the hardest one at all. We were running in warmer weather, at a different time of day, into strong winds. For whatever reason, both the husband and I found it harder than usual.
BUT I DID IT. There were a couple of seconds where I stopped running and walked for a second or two - once when I dropped my ipod, once because I didn't have my iphone with me to see I only had five seconds left and force myself on - mine was in the shop so the husband was using his app and telling me when to run and walk. But I'm still happy with that. Happy enough to start trying week two next week. And slightly scared!
But I've learnt a lot this week. First, to run incredibly slowly. As someone who only ran to catch a bus, I didn't really know anything about pacing myself, and although I'd read enough advice saying run slowly, I didn't know what it means. I do now. I run at a pace that feels barely faster than walking, although actually it is.
Secondly, that I can always go further than I think I can, and that it's my brain giving up when I stop, not my legs or lungs. I find it incredibly helpful to glance at how many seconds I have left when I think I'm about to give up, because I can then say "Surely you can do 10 more seconds? Just try" and manage it. I realised I always started walking during the third minute because I think "God, I'm exhausted and I'm not even nearly halfway through yet" and give up, thinking it's all impossible. Now I know this, I can carry on. The minutes after that one I always find easier. I've also started urging myself on to the next street lamp, the next bus stop, after a tip from my boss. "Come on, you can make it to there, that's no distance." Bizarrely, it helps.
Thirdly, that no-one looks twice at a fat girl in bad sportswear with a radish-red face trying to run. Certainly no-one points, or shouts. It sounds ridiculous that I was scared of this - but I was. And they didn't. No-one cares. This is brilliant, and liberating. (I've also thought of what I'd shout back, though, just in case.)
And finally, although I've always worked out best on my own, doing it for no-one but me, I'm really enjoying doing this with the husband. Although he annoyingly finds it far easier than me - even though he was less fit than me to start with, he weighs so much less and is so much taller, he has a massive advantage over me. I tell myself that he wouldn't do nearly so well carrying a suitcase (roughly the difference in our weights), and that satisfies the competitive part of me. But heading out together, urging each other on, listening to the same playlist so we both laugh when Dolly Parton comes on - it all helps. And it's great that we're making progress together, and when we come back, exhausted, smelly, but so very proud of ourselves - that's a wonderful feeling to share.
So onwards and upwards. For the first time in my life I'm running - even just for a minute - because I want to, not because I have to. And I'm starting to enjoy it. Who knew?
After getting through the door, and for about an hour afterwards, my face was this colour:
 | |||
| Radishes. Picture courtesy of La Grande Farmer's Market on Flickr |
In terms of actual progress with the program - well, I'm getting there. You may have noticed that it's taken me more like two weeks to complete week one. That's partly because of a schedule that made a missed workout in the first week inevitable, and partly because I was ill on Monday of this week and for a couple of days walking to the bus wasn't going to happen, let alone attempting to run.
The very first time we did the workout, it was just so much harder than I was expecting. After all, I wasn't strictly on the couch - I was fitter than I had been for a while after a couple of months of working out obsessively (for me) on the Wii - and getting properly sweaty and horrible, not just fannying around. But I ran the first minute much too fast - not fast at all, but not slow enough. After that I'd knackered myself so much that I could only run for 40 seconds of the next minute. And the next, and so on. I ran for the full minute twice, and for forty seconds six times.
And you know what? I was still incredibly proud of myself. I didn't stop - either ran, or walked, but never stopped.
The second time was easier - I walked the last part of the third minute, and the final minute - I got a stitch.
Going out again this week, a week after I'd last run? Actually easier than I was expecting - I gave up during the third minute, and when confronted with a steep unpaved slope in the last minute, but also suddenly realised that I was stopping for purely psychological reasons, and that I could actually have kept going.
We realised that the gaps, and the fact I still wasn't running the full distance, meant we'd have to repeat at least some of the week, and so re-did the last session for our last session.
This was the hardest one at all. We were running in warmer weather, at a different time of day, into strong winds. For whatever reason, both the husband and I found it harder than usual.
BUT I DID IT. There were a couple of seconds where I stopped running and walked for a second or two - once when I dropped my ipod, once because I didn't have my iphone with me to see I only had five seconds left and force myself on - mine was in the shop so the husband was using his app and telling me when to run and walk. But I'm still happy with that. Happy enough to start trying week two next week. And slightly scared!
But I've learnt a lot this week. First, to run incredibly slowly. As someone who only ran to catch a bus, I didn't really know anything about pacing myself, and although I'd read enough advice saying run slowly, I didn't know what it means. I do now. I run at a pace that feels barely faster than walking, although actually it is.
Secondly, that I can always go further than I think I can, and that it's my brain giving up when I stop, not my legs or lungs. I find it incredibly helpful to glance at how many seconds I have left when I think I'm about to give up, because I can then say "Surely you can do 10 more seconds? Just try" and manage it. I realised I always started walking during the third minute because I think "God, I'm exhausted and I'm not even nearly halfway through yet" and give up, thinking it's all impossible. Now I know this, I can carry on. The minutes after that one I always find easier. I've also started urging myself on to the next street lamp, the next bus stop, after a tip from my boss. "Come on, you can make it to there, that's no distance." Bizarrely, it helps.
Thirdly, that no-one looks twice at a fat girl in bad sportswear with a radish-red face trying to run. Certainly no-one points, or shouts. It sounds ridiculous that I was scared of this - but I was. And they didn't. No-one cares. This is brilliant, and liberating. (I've also thought of what I'd shout back, though, just in case.)
And finally, although I've always worked out best on my own, doing it for no-one but me, I'm really enjoying doing this with the husband. Although he annoyingly finds it far easier than me - even though he was less fit than me to start with, he weighs so much less and is so much taller, he has a massive advantage over me. I tell myself that he wouldn't do nearly so well carrying a suitcase (roughly the difference in our weights), and that satisfies the competitive part of me. But heading out together, urging each other on, listening to the same playlist so we both laugh when Dolly Parton comes on - it all helps. And it's great that we're making progress together, and when we come back, exhausted, smelly, but so very proud of ourselves - that's a wonderful feeling to share.
So onwards and upwards. For the first time in my life I'm running - even just for a minute - because I want to, not because I have to. And I'm starting to enjoy it. Who knew?
Monday, 16 May 2011
The ugly shoes of hope
On Friday, I did something I never thought I'd do.
With the Husband, walking back home from lunch (I had another half day, after a 14 hour day a few days before) I stopped off at a running shop. A specialist shop that has always scared me slightly. I walked up to a member of staff and told her that, although I'd never really run before, I was going to do a couch to five k and needed a pair of trainers that would stop me getting injured. She didn't laugh at me. Instead, she carefully measured my feet, brought up a few pairs of trainers, and got me to try them on. I then ran on a treadmill (me!) while she filmed how I ran and picked the best pair for me. I bought them.*
On the next door treadmill, the Husband was doing the same.
Our trainers are now sitting, in their boxes, in the corner of the bedroom.
This is the fourth pair of trainers I have owned in my adult (ish) life. The first, bought for fifth and sixth form PE lessons that were bunked off as often as possible, lasted me a good eight years. After all, I hardly wore them, until I hit a gym phase at 24.
Then I bought myself a new pair. They were chosen as much for being the cheapest and least ugly in the shop, and the fact that they were technically a size too big never bothered me. They did me a few months of the gym, before I met the Husband and found more fun things to do in the evening.
My third pair were bought by a friend for walking in. She found them uncomfortable, and said if they fitted me I could keep them. I kept them for a year or two, although as they're still pretty uncomfortable I tend to work out barefoot at home.
This pair are different. Although they are the third most expensive pair of shoes I own and I resent how ugly they are, at that price, they are comfortable. And I chose to get them. And I'm determined to use them, to start the couch to five k, and possibly even to wear these trainers out, in time.
Now I'm not one of life's runners - when I told my mum about these trainers she was speechless. But I think I can do this. And for the first time in my life, I really, really want to try. I know it'll be hard, and that it'll take time - probably more time than the nine weeks of the programme. But I'm excited, and hopeful. And that ugly pair of shoes in the corner of the bedroom has come to symbolise that excitement and hope.
Tonight, I'm planning to put them on.
*If anyone in Edinburgh wants to do the same, I really, really recommend Footworks in Bruntsfield. They were so helpful, and spent so much time on us!
With the Husband, walking back home from lunch (I had another half day, after a 14 hour day a few days before) I stopped off at a running shop. A specialist shop that has always scared me slightly. I walked up to a member of staff and told her that, although I'd never really run before, I was going to do a couch to five k and needed a pair of trainers that would stop me getting injured. She didn't laugh at me. Instead, she carefully measured my feet, brought up a few pairs of trainers, and got me to try them on. I then ran on a treadmill (me!) while she filmed how I ran and picked the best pair for me. I bought them.*
On the next door treadmill, the Husband was doing the same.
Our trainers are now sitting, in their boxes, in the corner of the bedroom.
This is the fourth pair of trainers I have owned in my adult (ish) life. The first, bought for fifth and sixth form PE lessons that were bunked off as often as possible, lasted me a good eight years. After all, I hardly wore them, until I hit a gym phase at 24.
Then I bought myself a new pair. They were chosen as much for being the cheapest and least ugly in the shop, and the fact that they were technically a size too big never bothered me. They did me a few months of the gym, before I met the Husband and found more fun things to do in the evening.
My third pair were bought by a friend for walking in. She found them uncomfortable, and said if they fitted me I could keep them. I kept them for a year or two, although as they're still pretty uncomfortable I tend to work out barefoot at home.
This pair are different. Although they are the third most expensive pair of shoes I own and I resent how ugly they are, at that price, they are comfortable. And I chose to get them. And I'm determined to use them, to start the couch to five k, and possibly even to wear these trainers out, in time.
Now I'm not one of life's runners - when I told my mum about these trainers she was speechless. But I think I can do this. And for the first time in my life, I really, really want to try. I know it'll be hard, and that it'll take time - probably more time than the nine weeks of the programme. But I'm excited, and hopeful. And that ugly pair of shoes in the corner of the bedroom has come to symbolise that excitement and hope.
Tonight, I'm planning to put them on.
*If anyone in Edinburgh wants to do the same, I really, really recommend Footworks in Bruntsfield. They were so helpful, and spent so much time on us!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
