People who consistently wake up by 6AM should be given awards annually. They really are a special type of person. Unless they're old, in which case it's natural. I would not be given an award because I do not have the drive to consistently wake up at 6AM. My alarm goes off this morning and while I do have it set to play the lovely song 'Elegy', I still would not be opposed to punching the first person I see in the face. Dragging myself out of bed and down from the nook that is my loft has never felt more difficult. But I promised Justin I would go and it's about time I actually followed through, not just for Justin, but for myself. 26 years is long enough.
Thankfully I prepped everything the night before because I would not have been willing to dig around for workout clothes. When I get to the gym, some guy is at the desk whom I've never seen before. And I don't even get a good morning. But it's probably because he can tell that I am not opposed to punching people in the face this early. And maybe he's in the same boat. So all is forgiven, mystery stranger at the front desk.
I change and do a quick warm up on the elliptical and then I amuse myself in the weight room for half an hour, throwing different exercises together haphazardly. Don't worry, they're all things I've done before like leg presses, rows, and arm extensions, but I have no idea if they should be done together or not. We'll pretend it's fine. Either way it's exercise.
I went in to my workout today assuming I would be by myself, for the most part, but I'm kind of surprised how busy the gym is this early in the morning. I guess other people want to fit it in, to. And there is no shortage of people who make me feel inadequate. The two middle-aged, bordering on elderly women in the weight room make me think I am accomplishing nothing compared to them. While I'm sweating and straining to do my sets of leg presses they are hopping from machine to machine like crazy people, only they're exercising. Ladies, settle down. You're making me look bad.
While I am self conscious about some things, there are other things that I have become shameless about. I used to be so embarrassed about sweat: not anymore. I used to fear making awkward faces while I struggle to lift or press or maintain a plank: fear gone. I used to be nervous that I'd exert so much that I would pass gas: that one is still there. So when it happens, I want to die. Thankfully I don't think anyone heard me.
After my time with the weights is over, I head back to a treadmill to start my cardio. I'm feeling adventurous so I do the same workout as yesterday with the two minutes of walking but for my minute of exertion I jog THE ENTIRE TIME. I didn't even know I could jog for a minute, let alone for a total of five minutes. I even add on an extra cool-down minute so my total cardio workout is twenty one minutes long. I can't say how exciting it is to be able to tangibly tell that the work you've been doing has really created a shift in what your body can do. Or at least in what you feel capable doing. It is really quite exciting.
At the request of a follower/reader (I don't know if I would call her avid because I don't know if she waits for posts with bated breath) I have decided to grace all of you with the playlist that I walked/jogged with today. Maybe these songs will work for you, as well. I don't really know the best way to list them, so I'll just do it numerically, which may seem boring but deal. I'm doing you a favor.
1. Out Alive - Ke$ha
2. Wings - Little Mix
3. We Found Love (feat. Calvlin Harris) - Rihanna
4. I Love It - Icona Pop
5. Stay (feat. Mikky Ekko) - Rihanna
6. U Make Me Wanna (Original Extended Mix) - Eddie Amador and Kimberly Cole
After my workout I change and head upstairs to get a smoothie. Mystery front desk man is apparently more cheerful because he responds positively to my request for a smoothie. I stop in to Justin's office to prove that I did, in fact, show up this morning and because I apparently need validation from others even if I know I'm doing something that is really good for myself. My brain is funny like that. With my workout done and my smoothie made, I drive home ready to conquer the day.
Showing posts with label walking. Show all posts
Showing posts with label walking. Show all posts
Thursday, May 16, 2013
Wednesday, May 15, 2013
Anxiety...
I thought I knew what stress felt like. I've done live theatre, what could be more stressful than that? Apparently resuming personal training is. I get home from work and begin to put together my gym bag (I bought a real one!) with my workout gear and headphones and my heart rate quickens ever so slightly. I get in the car with Andrew and drive to the gym, but we get stopped by a train. My heart rate goes up a lot and I start to feel panicky. Finally, I'm walking up the stairs to the gym and I feel like I could pass out.
It's not like Justin is super mean. I have no idea why I'm crazy freaking out, today, but the idea of doing personal training is causing me to feel so anxious. Unnaturally anxious. Ke$ha doesn't even make me feel better during my warm up, which is really strange. After seven and a half minutes, I head out to find Justin and I'm having an out of body experience. So, in an effort to be honest, I let him know that I am terrified of the session, today.
His response is amazing and this is why everyone if they're anyone should come to the BAC and hire Justin. He says, "I'm not going to kick your ass on your first day back." It's only slightly encouraging, but it does enough to make me try hard for the next half hour. He has me do standing presses and wall sits (which I fail miserably at) and shoulder presses and hovers, which make me unhealthily angry. I hate you, you are so mean. Yeah, this guy who I was just saying was so incredibly nice quickly made me shift my opinion quite rapidly by having me do hovers. Hovers are awful. Clearly we as human beings are not meant to hover.
We end the session with tricep curls, which I am overly confident in my ability to perform. We start with some pitiful weight of around twelve pounds. Ridiculous. Justin admits that it could be too light. I usually do eighty. False. He one hundred percent doubts me but when I insist he puts the weight at eighty. I do not usually do eighty, I realize. Boom, blow to the ego. We bring it down to a much more manageable twentyish pounds and I do three reps of fifteen. While I do this, we map out my workout plan for the week, which includes a trip to the gym at 6AM tomorrow morning. I hate 6AM, but that's the only time I can do, tomorrow and I'm not making the same mistake as last time by not supplementing my training sessions with my own workouts.
I end my workout with a twenty minute treadmill time. Best Friend Rachel emerges from her class and I convince her to walk with me. I walk for two minutes at a leisurely pace and kick it up, in both speed and incline for the following minute, all the way to the nineteen minute mark. Then, I jog for the last minute. I jog at 6.1 miles per hour. And I live. I'm truly an inspiration to myself. I'm also truly disgusting to myself. No, really. I smell awful at this point. Thank goodness I get to go home and shower after this.
It's not like Justin is super mean. I have no idea why I'm crazy freaking out, today, but the idea of doing personal training is causing me to feel so anxious. Unnaturally anxious. Ke$ha doesn't even make me feel better during my warm up, which is really strange. After seven and a half minutes, I head out to find Justin and I'm having an out of body experience. So, in an effort to be honest, I let him know that I am terrified of the session, today.
His response is amazing and this is why everyone if they're anyone should come to the BAC and hire Justin. He says, "I'm not going to kick your ass on your first day back." It's only slightly encouraging, but it does enough to make me try hard for the next half hour. He has me do standing presses and wall sits (which I fail miserably at) and shoulder presses and hovers, which make me unhealthily angry. I hate you, you are so mean. Yeah, this guy who I was just saying was so incredibly nice quickly made me shift my opinion quite rapidly by having me do hovers. Hovers are awful. Clearly we as human beings are not meant to hover.
We end the session with tricep curls, which I am overly confident in my ability to perform. We start with some pitiful weight of around twelve pounds. Ridiculous. Justin admits that it could be too light. I usually do eighty. False. He one hundred percent doubts me but when I insist he puts the weight at eighty. I do not usually do eighty, I realize. Boom, blow to the ego. We bring it down to a much more manageable twentyish pounds and I do three reps of fifteen. While I do this, we map out my workout plan for the week, which includes a trip to the gym at 6AM tomorrow morning. I hate 6AM, but that's the only time I can do, tomorrow and I'm not making the same mistake as last time by not supplementing my training sessions with my own workouts.
I end my workout with a twenty minute treadmill time. Best Friend Rachel emerges from her class and I convince her to walk with me. I walk for two minutes at a leisurely pace and kick it up, in both speed and incline for the following minute, all the way to the nineteen minute mark. Then, I jog for the last minute. I jog at 6.1 miles per hour. And I live. I'm truly an inspiration to myself. I'm also truly disgusting to myself. No, really. I smell awful at this point. Thank goodness I get to go home and shower after this.
Thursday, September 13, 2012
Intimidation...
There are two things in the world that intimidate me: movie stars and treadmills. And I only encounter one on a regular basis. I go to the gym yesterday and decide like an idiot that I'm going to use a treadmill. As I walk over someone calls out my name. I turn and it's my apparently new best friend CJ. I get your tactic, CJ. Greet the new guy, make him feel welcome so he gets off his lazy butt and keeps coming back. Apparently, CJ cares more about my health than I do. Keep it to yourself, CJ.
Picking a treadmill doesn't sound hard, but when there's a row of about 15 of them it suddenly seems like a huge decision. Do I pick one close to other people and potentially seem creepy? Do I pick one as far away from others and seem snobbish? I have no idea. So I pick one in the middle and try not to feel badly about my decision.
As I start up the treadmill, I realize I do not know treadmill etiquette. I have no idea if I should start it and slowly increase my speed, or raise the speed before I step on, and I am for sure not touching that incline button. I'm terrified I'm going to fall flat on my face and all I'm doing is walking. Something I do EVERY DAY. Leave it to a piece of gym equipment to make you feel inadequate while doing something as trivial as walking. I find my groove after about five minutes, but not without the constant fear of what will happen if I look away from my feet, or the foreboding end of the treadmill that could be millimeters from my feet; I really have no idea.
About 8 minutes in, I'm overcome with an urge to dance as 'Club Can't Handle Me', the genius Flo Rida and David Guetta collaboration from last year, plays on my ipod. Seriously, who doesn't want to break it down when this song comes on? Evidently, not only can the Club not handle me, but neither can the treadmill. Trying to bounce to a beat with your upper body while your feet are walking at a completely different tempo is insanely difficult and I lose my balance and have to brace myself on the supports. Mental note, don't dance on the treadmill.
After 25 minutes and about a gallon of sweat, my time on the treadmill has come to an end. Post-treadmill, I feel like I'm gliding across the floor, which feels kind of cool. Then, on to the weight room for leg day. Now, I've never been in labor before, but I'm fairly certain that working my inner thighs on the machine that forces your legs apart in the most provocative of ways comes pretty close to what it feels like to lie in a hospital bed awaiting the emergence of an infant from your nether region. Praise be to Jehovah this gym is practically a ghost town.
Several more machines and two sore legs later, I begin the arduous climb up the set of stairs that you have to use in order to exit the gym. Clever design, gym architect, but I would literally push you down these stairs if you were here right now. Not only do I have to conquer those stairs, but I have to ascend the two flights of stairs to get to my apartment. What did I learn today? Stairs suck.
Picking a treadmill doesn't sound hard, but when there's a row of about 15 of them it suddenly seems like a huge decision. Do I pick one close to other people and potentially seem creepy? Do I pick one as far away from others and seem snobbish? I have no idea. So I pick one in the middle and try not to feel badly about my decision.
As I start up the treadmill, I realize I do not know treadmill etiquette. I have no idea if I should start it and slowly increase my speed, or raise the speed before I step on, and I am for sure not touching that incline button. I'm terrified I'm going to fall flat on my face and all I'm doing is walking. Something I do EVERY DAY. Leave it to a piece of gym equipment to make you feel inadequate while doing something as trivial as walking. I find my groove after about five minutes, but not without the constant fear of what will happen if I look away from my feet, or the foreboding end of the treadmill that could be millimeters from my feet; I really have no idea.
About 8 minutes in, I'm overcome with an urge to dance as 'Club Can't Handle Me', the genius Flo Rida and David Guetta collaboration from last year, plays on my ipod. Seriously, who doesn't want to break it down when this song comes on? Evidently, not only can the Club not handle me, but neither can the treadmill. Trying to bounce to a beat with your upper body while your feet are walking at a completely different tempo is insanely difficult and I lose my balance and have to brace myself on the supports. Mental note, don't dance on the treadmill.
After 25 minutes and about a gallon of sweat, my time on the treadmill has come to an end. Post-treadmill, I feel like I'm gliding across the floor, which feels kind of cool. Then, on to the weight room for leg day. Now, I've never been in labor before, but I'm fairly certain that working my inner thighs on the machine that forces your legs apart in the most provocative of ways comes pretty close to what it feels like to lie in a hospital bed awaiting the emergence of an infant from your nether region. Praise be to Jehovah this gym is practically a ghost town.
Several more machines and two sore legs later, I begin the arduous climb up the set of stairs that you have to use in order to exit the gym. Clever design, gym architect, but I would literally push you down these stairs if you were here right now. Not only do I have to conquer those stairs, but I have to ascend the two flights of stairs to get to my apartment. What did I learn today? Stairs suck.
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