The semester is drawing to a close and, appropriately, I'm in the most difficult stretch. I went away for the weekend to find my sanity. The highlight of the trip, besides reconnecting with family and friends, was reconnecting with my running.
Monday: Pool. It's getting easier. I'm in the 'FAST LANE'. This may sound impressive, but take into account that the other FAST LANE swimmers include a geriatric with flippers and a crack-head who calls himself Phelps.
Tuesday/Wednesday: These have started to be my rest days. Since I workout through the weekend, I find a need a mental break earlier in the week.
Thursday: Elliptical for an hour. Caught up on the news. I think Mother Nature is pretty upset wiht us right now.
Friday: Grotowski. Truly, this "workout" wreaks physical and emotional havoc.
Saturday: Running in a different state. Oh the glorious intake of fresh air! I did a circuit around the local playground: liners on the basketball court and calesthenics on the jungle gym. It kept me interested, at least. 25 minutes flew by.
Sunday: My surprise favorite. Running in the morning in yet another state (2 in one weekend), I was so excited by not only the perfect running weather (you know the kind: cool, with a hint of dew) and the crisp, woodsy air but also by the fact that I was OUTSIDE, I ended up running for an hour. It literally flew by. And around the half hour mark, I remembered how I used to love running. The way it feels when I reconnect with my torso and limbs moving on their own, drinking in fresh air like cold tea, feeling the blood pulse in sync with the rhythm of my breathing - I could have run right off the streets and kept going for days. It was the first time in a few months where I've had a quiet morning to myself to think and be peaceful on my own terms. I did not have to wake up that early for class or work; I woke up for me, and I had space and time to clear my thoughts. I found my sanity; it's at 6:45am on a deserted suburban street, overlooking some backwoods, listening to the river of my breath and the flow of my feet. Alone and divorced from the mill of New York's daily hubbub and my final, cramping stretch.
I can't believe I'm a month into this. I've felt progress rather than seen it. The ease of breathing after a certain amount of exertion, and the positive feeling before and after I exercise. I think after a month it really does become a habit that you start to enjoy. That's what I'd advocate: Give it a month, consistently (at least 3x/wk).
Goal for this week: More weights. And to hang on to my sanity.
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