At the gym, workin' on my fitness

I can't believe my blog title just quoted Fergilicious. Oh well, can't take it back now.

Recently I joined a new gym, and with my membership I got 2 free personal training sessions. I've never had a personal trainer before and never really saw the need. I think trainers are good for people who need an actual "appointment" to get motivated to go to the gym (such as my husband), but I know I'm going to go anyway, so I don't fall into that category. But free is free.

First of all, my trainer was great. Not only is he a CPT, but he also has a degree in kinesiology from a well-respected university. Most importantly, he did not tell me I was a lard-ass. He simply asked me what my fitness goals were, and I answered, "I don't really have any."

I'm not trying to lose weight -- in fact, I'm actively trying NOT to lose weight, since in the next few years here Brad and I will be thinking about starting a family and being too lean has never been kind on the ol' bod (without getting into the TMI category). I'm not trying to train for anything. I don't really see the need to buff up or get my resting heart rate down. My only objective, really, is to stay in shape, maintain my current weight, enjoy life, and not get injured. As I told my trainer, I'm a zen exerciser now. I think I saw him roll his eyes a little.

Anyway, I had my two sessions last week, and they were great. We navigated the scary boys-only weight room and I learned how to do a bunch of things for my major muscle groups, including PULL-UPS! I did two unassisted, and man did I feel it. I was actually OK the next day, giving me false hope that I have truly amazing shoulder and back muscles. Unfortunately, it was two days later that I woke up and could no longer move my arms above my waist. DOMS (delayed-onset muscle soreness) and I are not good friends. On Friday he showed me a bunch of knee-friendly quad and glute exercises and today I can't sit down without a pillow under my ass.

I really enjoyed working with him -- so much so that I caved and bought a few more sessions. If nothing else, I hope to learn more functional exercises that will help me get stronger and prevent injuries.

Thank goodness I like myself.

Today at work we had a local gym come and set up shop for a "fitness fair" (to sell memberships, basically). My ghetto gym is getting old, literally and figuratively, and I've been thinking about switching it up lately, so I stopped by to check it out.

To attract people to the booth, they had a personal trailer doing peoples' body composition and fitness testing. Now, I'm kind of past the point of caring about that kinda stuff (I'm now officially what I like to call a Zen exerciser - I do it 'cuz it feels good and is fun), but I decided, what the hell, I'm about to sign my paychecks away to these people, so I may as well get something for free. I let the trainer take my weight and my body fat, and I am pleased to say I was very satisfied with the results. I'm certainly not going to share my "stats" on this blog, but I will say that my body fat was in the "fitness" (one step above "normal") range and that my BMI even with shoes and clothes on was healthy and normal.

So here I am, feeling all great about myself, and the trainer -- who I realize is just trying to sell memberships -- says, "OK, here are the things we can work on."

She goes on to tell me that

a) I need to tighten up my stomach
b) my hips could use some toning work
c) with just a few weeks of "nutrition counseling" I could easily drop 5 pounds.

OK, let me just pause here and say thank GOD I have pretty high self-esteem and was able to laugh this off. Because if this were 6 or 7 years ago I would have probably cried myself into a coma and then, upon waking, gone out and run 14 miles and then possibly eaten an entire chocolate cake. I wasn't offended, just pissed! Who looks at a potentially vulnerable young woman who's healthy and fit and tells her she needs to tone up and lose weight? Well, besides someone who's trying to sell personal training sessions, I guess. :sigh:

Anyway, her kind suggestions had the opposite effect on me. While I still may check out this gym with my 7-day free pass and potentially consider joining, I'm never going to buy a personal training session from a woman who tells me I need to shape the eff up. No wonder every woman in this country has body issues.

Exercise with a point

This spring and summer, I've been finding myself doing a lot more "practical" exercise. I'm not training for any multi-day bike rides, but I AM riding my bike to work 3-4 days a week, which is 35 minutes of solid cardio (there and back). And I'm not training for a marathon, but if I need to run an errand after dinner, I try to walk there. We have two drugstores and two supermarkets within a mile of our house, and as long as I'm not picking up a 40 lb. bag of cat litter, those distances are easily walkable. I've never been much of a walker, but now I usually "walk my errands" at least two nights a week. If I really need to sweat, I fight Brad for lawn-mowing duties (we both love mowing the lawn). And finally, since I work on the 8th floor of a 10-floor building, I always try to take the stairs (unless I'm in a huge hurry). Walking up 8 flights of stairs twice a day is a killer workout!

I realize I'm pretty lucky for living in a place where I can bike and walk everywhere. That's actually one of the main reasons we bought a house where we did. (Oh, thank GOD it didn't burn down...I love our house.) Especially now that I'm in school and 3-4 nights a week will be lost to reading and writing (no 'rithmetic, thankfully), I'm starting to realize that practical exercise may just be the best form of exercise for me these days. I can just remember coming home from those two-hour tri club workouts at 8:30 p.m., so hungry I was about to pass out, and I still needed to do about a billion chores before bed. I loved those workouts, but they aren't very practical for a busy person.

I know that as the days get shorter and the weather gets colder, I'll have to put in more time at the gym and the pool, so I'm trying to soak up the summer days while I've got 'em.

In moderation?

Even though I promised not to talk about exercise in this blog, I felt like I needed to get this off my chest. So I'm not so good at keeping promises...but we all knew that already! :)

When I started running at age 13, I couldn't just be a normal 13-year-old runner (if there is such a thing). No, not me. I had to be the star of the cross-country team. I wasn't blessed with natural talent like many of my fellow runners, so instead I worked my butt off, never skipping a practice and doing extra on the weekends. By high school, I'd made the varsity team and was consistently placing in every race. Running was pretty much my life outside of school. And while I was never the star of the team, I bet I was the fastest girl out there who was 5' tall with a big ass and dumpy legs. With my lack of talent, something like a 21:35 5K time (sadly, I can't even remember my exact PR) was the best I could have hoped for.

I completely gave up running for a few years and picked it back up again at age 24 when my friend Katie talked me into running a half-marathon. After several earnest attempts, I realized there was no way I could be fast like I was in high school (six years and 30 pounds will do that to you). So instead I took it to the other extreme: long distance. Two years later, I had three half-marathons, a bunch of century rides, a few tris, a marathon and a half-ironman under my belt and I was hungry for more.

Well, all of you know how the story ends. No more running or biking, at least (crosses fingers, toes, legs, arms and eyes) for the time being. Today I'm at the point where I can swim, lift weights and occasionally go for a walk or do the elliptical machine when I feel up to it. Every time I try to push myself harder than that, I pay for it.

No matter what happens on Feb. 28, I think the message here is clear: I need to learn how to exercise in moderation, because the extreme didn't work for me. I need to learn how to work out 30 minutes a day, 5 days a week, and to stay in good shape without killing myself. It sounds simple...but for me, this feels like an impossibility.

I'm not an "in moderation" type of person.

I either do something to the extreme, or I become an extreme slacker. My house is either disasterous or spotless. I either get 4 hours of sleep or 14 hours. I eat a balanced diet, or I eat fast food three times a day. Before I quit drinking, I drank to get drunk. Everything in my life, even something as simple as chewing gum (I chew so much that I gave myself jaw problems!), is pretty much an all-or-nothing event. Most people who know me well would say "duh," but I didn't get it until recently. (Yeah...apparently I should have done this therapy thing years ago.)

Unfortunately, I can't quit exercising like I quit drinking. I mean, I could, but that wouldn't be good either. So instead, I have no choice but to learn how to moderate and be okay with it -- both now and after my surgery. Maybe someday I'll be able to run another marathon, but focusing on that now isn't going to get me anywhere. So, I guess I have no choice -- I have to keep working at this moderation thing.

So, after I eat this third fun-sized Snickers...I'm going to the gym. For 30 minutes.

Walk of life

First of all, let me just make clear that this is not one of my "new things," but instead a random, stream-of-consciousness commentary that will occasionally appear in this blog.

Today was a beautiful fall day, and that made me sad. Because typically, beautiful fall days are great days for running. And I can't do anything of the sort.

So I was sitting around whining about how badly I wanted to lace up my Adidas Brevards (sob) when my husband, who has sat through many a whining session, said to me matter-of-factly: "Why don't you just take a walk?"

Although I wasn't in front of a mirror at the time, I believe my expression was a more appropriate response to the suggestion, "Why don't you just take a piece of poop out of the litter box and eat it with a knife and fork?"

"A walk? I said. "Are you serious?"

Runners? We don't walk. Old ladies in sweatsuits walk. Sorority girls with "juicy" across their asses walk. But we? Walk? No way in hell.

To make a very long argument short, I did, in the end, wind up going for a walk. I laced up my running shoes, put on my dri-fit pants and shirt, got out my iPod, and walked out the door. I was bored, it was a nice day, and if I stayed inside, someone was probably going to get hurt.

Coming from someone who's been doing this since I was about a year old, let me just say: walking is weird. I mean, walking to the bathroom or to get the mail, which I do every day, is pretty normal. But walking deliberately is a totally different experience. I couldn't really figure out how fast to go, how hard to swing my arms, or whether one of the neighbors would ask me if I needed a ride.

Eventually, though, my brain just shut off and I...walked. And you know what? I actually kind of enjoyed it. I didn't really get out of breath or get my heart rate up, but 30 minutes later, when I returned to the homestead, I actually felt like I'd gotten a little workout. It was no 20-mile trail run, but it was better than sitting around feeling sorry for myself.