Let's start out by taking a walk down memory lane, shall we? Crank up Springsteen's Glory Days, because here we go:
I've been an athlete for as long as I can remember. Way back in elementary school, I played every sport they had because if I didn't our class wouldn't have enough people on the team to scrimmage against the other area Catholic schools. Basketball, volleyball, cheerleading...I did it all. Fast forward to Middle school where I replaced the cheerleading bit for track. Just before the foray into high school, on a whim, I decided to fore-go the volleyball tryouts and join the cross country team. There were two reasons for this: 1) there were no tryouts, therefore no chance at rejection (my 14 year old self had terrible self esteem) and 2) my sister was already on the team. We pushed each other to great success. Pictures of us, in our navy blue running tights and bright orange running shorts (gross!) show the lean and lanky (well, I was lanky - she was a little more vertically challenged) figures. We looked like q-tips with our big poufy hair and bean pole bodies. And right here is where we cut the music and fast forward 20 years.
After a decidedly long absence from exercise outside of walking to the fridge and back, I have decided that I have had enough. A friend of mine is diligent - nearly obsessed - with being fit. This woman can cut carbs and not kill people after two days. She participates in athletic events that make me cringe. She encouraged me to start working out with her. Thanks to the ignorance that was afforded to me by being lazy for 20 years, I said ok. Her favorite activity is spin class. Riding a bike? Sounds good - that's what I would do when I was injured in my running days. It can't be too hard, right? WRONG!
My first spin class was like a bad dream. I didn't have the right shoes...when I saw people clip-clopping around the room in their biking shoes, I realized I was in over my head. The first time I tried to stand up as the instructor screamed at the class, I nearly fell off of the bike. My toes went numb. The computer on the bike was telling me with very scientific numbers that I was a lazy piece of crap.
I have been to 6 spin classes now and I am happy to report that after finding the right teacher - and by "right" I mean that he walks around the room, screaming in a very lovely British accent and plays music that makes me long for the days of dancing in a club with a drink and cigarette in hand - I am having a much more positive cycling experience. While I knew I was no longer the boundlessly energetic bean pole I was 20 years ago, I was shocked at the horrible tricks age has played on me. My joints hate me. My body - thanks to my non-functioning thyroid - refuses to sweat. While this might sound like a gift, after running a fever for the 24 hours it took my body to cool down on its own, I can tell you it's not. A combination of long-term laziness and that damn thyroid again makes my resting heart rate look more like the temperature in Death Valley at noon in the middle of summer. It took me all of 4 minutes into the workout today to get my heart rate up to 190. After the instructor's initial disbelief, he told me to "turn it down a half turn, sit down and pedal it out" until I got back to the 180s. I have to turn off the upper limit alarm in order to keep going without a shrill piercing beep telling me that the heart rate monitor is relatively certain I am having a heart attack.
It's all coming back to me now. The grueling multiple-mile workouts in Cross Country that, when I put forth just a tad bit of effort, I could do without batting an eye. The killers in basketball that I hated. I don't remember feeling this sense of lungs coming out of my body and exhaustion so deep that it takes all I have to drive home after class. In spite of all of this, I feel good. I have come to terms with the fact that I will never be as good as I was but I can certainly be better than I am now. I have a goal in mind: I am going to run the Bolder Boulder 10k this Memorial Day (barring any injury) and want to finish having run the entire way. It doesn't seem like much, but it's about time.
