Gyms ought to advertise themselves on how wonderful you feel after you've been. I went at lunchtime today, and at the moment I love everybody. I appreciate as never before how wonderful it is to be wearing a cool linen skirt and sandals, not nasty hot tracky bottoms and trainers, and to be clean and dry. My shoulders ache (again) but I don't care.
It's not that I don't enjoy the exercise itself. On the days when I don't have a limit on the time I can take, I sometimes find I've been there for more than two hours. The running isn't exactly pleasurable, but even I can see that I wouldn't still be doing it if it was torture. I'm not that self-disciplined. I do enjoy the weight machines. This is a constant surprise to me. You'd think I'd get bored – you can't read while using them, after all – but not so far.
I think I'm improving, slightly, at the interval running program. It wasn't quite as hard today. The "hills" are quite subtle (by Edinburgh standards - it's a hilly place), although you do begin to notice that you're bobbing up and down a bit as your supporting foot moves downwards and back with the motion of the treadmill. I'm sort of hoping that this will get me used to this kind of movement. After the RFL is over, my next challenge will be learning to use the scary cross-training machines.
Ah, the RFL. You didn't think I wasn't going to mention that, did you? Well, if you're so minded, you can now sponsor me online:
http://www.raceforlifesponsorme.org/kirstenruns
and I'd be really, really grateful if you did. Any amount, however small! Much as I've been focusing on this as a personal challenge, it is a vitally good cause. Also, if people sponsor me, I will absolutely have to do it.
Edinburgh is confidently expected to be deluged by protesters all of next week, because of the G8 summit, the Live 8 concert and a bunch of other protests that are being scheduled then to take advantage of the buzz. So when I mentioned that I need to organise a lift to Kirkcaldy, Mum said "When is it you're going?"
"Sunday morning."
"No you're not!"
Yes I am. As my sister says, you can't entirely stop your life for Bob Geldof. I have the greatest sympathy with the cause, and I may go out on the streets myself on Saturday (if I can get into town, which may be difficult!) but I'm not giving up on something I've been training for for four months!
Monday, June 27, 2005
Sunday, June 26, 2005
Heat
It's been a beautiful sunny Saturday and what did I do? I went to the gym.
I kind of had to, because I didn't renew my membership until Thursday in the end, and what with the RFL being only a week away now, I know I will panic if I miss any more sessions.
In fact, it was a really good workout. I have started using the interval program on the treadmill - it starts out on the level, and then tilts the surface to simulate a hill, and also varies the speed. It is hard work. However, it does seem to burn more calories than simply running on the flat, and (I hope) gives a better impression of running over real terrain. Of course, it's still running over perfectly smooth ground in a perfectly straight line, so the simulation can't be that good.
According to the readout, at least, though, you burn quite a few more calories this way than just running on the flat, even if you have to walk some bits (which I did). I set it to fifteen minutes rather than twenty, and I completed it OK. This is just as well considering I'll be going about twice as far in a week. I would really like to have managed to work up to 5K by now, but it isn't going to happen. I'll just have to do the best I can on the day.
I'm really hoping that next Sunday will be overcast and coolish. By the end of today's run I was a horrible sticky mess - and my preferred T-shirts and tracky bottoms are black (although I have others I can wear if it's really hot). I really don't think I have the nerve to do the RFL in shorts...
The weights are improving, slowly. I had a go on the calf raise machine for a change - didn't find it very difficult, but it definitely feels as though it's doing something! I also felt I'd had a good workout of the abdominals and shoulders, although they now ache more than somewhat...
_______________________________________________________
Last night I went with my brother and his girlfriend to see Batman Begins, and am adding it to my list of films that make you want to go and run around afterwards (others include Lord of the Rings and Bend it Like Beckham). I enjoyed it vastly and could easily go on at length about all the things I liked about it, but I will resist (Christian Bale! Michael Caine! Pushups! Batcloak! no, I said I would resist...) My only quibble is that Cillian Murphy is far too young to be a qualified psychiatrist - but he's so pretty that I'll let it pass.
The girlfriend and I were both expecting to dream about scarecrows last night, but neither of us did. Given my recent record this can only be a good thing!
I kind of had to, because I didn't renew my membership until Thursday in the end, and what with the RFL being only a week away now, I know I will panic if I miss any more sessions.
In fact, it was a really good workout. I have started using the interval program on the treadmill - it starts out on the level, and then tilts the surface to simulate a hill, and also varies the speed. It is hard work. However, it does seem to burn more calories than simply running on the flat, and (I hope) gives a better impression of running over real terrain. Of course, it's still running over perfectly smooth ground in a perfectly straight line, so the simulation can't be that good.
According to the readout, at least, though, you burn quite a few more calories this way than just running on the flat, even if you have to walk some bits (which I did). I set it to fifteen minutes rather than twenty, and I completed it OK. This is just as well considering I'll be going about twice as far in a week. I would really like to have managed to work up to 5K by now, but it isn't going to happen. I'll just have to do the best I can on the day.
I'm really hoping that next Sunday will be overcast and coolish. By the end of today's run I was a horrible sticky mess - and my preferred T-shirts and tracky bottoms are black (although I have others I can wear if it's really hot). I really don't think I have the nerve to do the RFL in shorts...
The weights are improving, slowly. I had a go on the calf raise machine for a change - didn't find it very difficult, but it definitely feels as though it's doing something! I also felt I'd had a good workout of the abdominals and shoulders, although they now ache more than somewhat...
_______________________________________________________
Last night I went with my brother and his girlfriend to see Batman Begins, and am adding it to my list of films that make you want to go and run around afterwards (others include Lord of the Rings and Bend it Like Beckham). I enjoyed it vastly and could easily go on at length about all the things I liked about it, but I will resist (Christian Bale! Michael Caine! Pushups! Batcloak! no, I said I would resist...) My only quibble is that Cillian Murphy is far too young to be a qualified psychiatrist - but he's so pretty that I'll let it pass.
The girlfriend and I were both expecting to dream about scarecrows last night, but neither of us did. Given my recent record this can only be a good thing!
Wednesday, June 22, 2005
Recursive question
You know how I vowed to write more frequent but shorter entries? I'm not succeeding, am I?
Meme a little meme of three
I don't normally do memes (although a disclaimer of this kind seems to be becoming a meme in itself...) but I've just discovered two weight loss blogs, Scale and Perspective and Yo Heave Ho, and I want an excuse to link to them because I think they're fabbydoo. They've both done this little questionnaire recently:
3 names I go by: K, Kirsten, Snuggle
3 screen names I've had: K, Kirsten. That's it. I can never think of good screen names.
3 physical things I like about myself: Eyes, mouth, feet. I have pretty feet.
3 parts of my heritage: Edinburgh, Arran, Clackmannanshire. Otherwise known as Scottish, Scottish, Scottish. That's right, I come from a long line of people who never went anywhere much.
3 things I am wearing right now: My favourite shoes. Sunscreen. Silver nail varnish.
3 favourite bands: They Might Be Giants. The Divine Comedy. Moxy Fruvous (unique, and sadly defunct).
3 favorite songs: Another First Kiss (rock version). Tonight we Fly. Video Bargainville. (If I have to choose three... Ask me tomorrow and the answers might be different).
3 things I want in a relationship: Affection, conversation, snuggles.
3 physical things about the preferred sex that appeal to me: Curly smile. Sparkly eyes. Smooth and tender skin.
3 favourite hobbies: Reading, making things, singing.
3 Things I want to do badly right now: See my boyfriend. Finish reading my book (Clouds of Witness by Dorothy L. Sayers). Go for a walk in the sunshine (it's raining now).
3 things that scare me: Needles. Very sharp blades. The dentist.
3 of my everyday essentials: a book. Flying Fox Temple Balm. Chewing gum.
3 Careers you have considered or are considering: Publishing. Archivist (reality), prizewinning novelist (in my dreams).
3 places you want to go on holiday: New York. Australia/New Zealand. Italy.
3 kids' names you like: Rowan (for a girl), Mairi, Thomas.
3 things you want to do before you die: Write a book and get it published. Learn to sail. Make a beautiful garden.
3 ways I am stereotypically a boy: I don't drive cautiously enough. I like noisy action films. I am not at all good at picking up on others' moods.
3 ways I am stereotypically a girl: Waist-length hair. I buy things on impulse (especially jewellery and pairs of shoes). In my heart I think everyone should find the one they love and be faithful ever after.
3 celeb crushes: I've tended to fall for fictional characters... Marcus Didius Falco, Shadow Moon, Prentice McHoan, and my first love - Howl Jenkins. A challenge - I bet you can't identify more than one of these without using Google! (I obviously go for men with really weird names from the look of it. If you ask me, I will tell you what books they come from).
______________________________________________________
I haven't done any proper exercise, other than going for walks, for days. This is partly because my gym membership ran out, and partly because I am a bit disorganised and haven't actually got myself out for a run. However, it is now less than two weeks to the Race for Life, so I had better get myself in gear. The gym membership is sorted out, and I have my gym kit with me. No more excuses.
I wen to my brother's graduation ceremony yesterday: he looked so dashing and handsome in his kilt, gown and hood. So I'm giving that as an excuse for eating chocolate mousse at the meal afterwards - I mean, how often does one's only brother graduate? It makes me feel rather ancient to know that my baby brother has a degree, though...
3 names I go by: K, Kirsten, Snuggle
3 screen names I've had: K, Kirsten. That's it. I can never think of good screen names.
3 physical things I like about myself: Eyes, mouth, feet. I have pretty feet.
3 parts of my heritage: Edinburgh, Arran, Clackmannanshire. Otherwise known as Scottish, Scottish, Scottish. That's right, I come from a long line of people who never went anywhere much.
3 things I am wearing right now: My favourite shoes. Sunscreen. Silver nail varnish.
3 favourite bands: They Might Be Giants. The Divine Comedy. Moxy Fruvous (unique, and sadly defunct).
3 favorite songs: Another First Kiss (rock version). Tonight we Fly. Video Bargainville. (If I have to choose three... Ask me tomorrow and the answers might be different).
3 things I want in a relationship: Affection, conversation, snuggles.
3 physical things about the preferred sex that appeal to me: Curly smile. Sparkly eyes. Smooth and tender skin.
3 favourite hobbies: Reading, making things, singing.
3 Things I want to do badly right now: See my boyfriend. Finish reading my book (Clouds of Witness by Dorothy L. Sayers). Go for a walk in the sunshine (it's raining now).
3 things that scare me: Needles. Very sharp blades. The dentist.
3 of my everyday essentials: a book. Flying Fox Temple Balm. Chewing gum.
3 Careers you have considered or are considering: Publishing. Archivist (reality), prizewinning novelist (in my dreams).
3 places you want to go on holiday: New York. Australia/New Zealand. Italy.
3 kids' names you like: Rowan (for a girl), Mairi, Thomas.
3 things you want to do before you die: Write a book and get it published. Learn to sail. Make a beautiful garden.
3 ways I am stereotypically a boy: I don't drive cautiously enough. I like noisy action films. I am not at all good at picking up on others' moods.
3 ways I am stereotypically a girl: Waist-length hair. I buy things on impulse (especially jewellery and pairs of shoes). In my heart I think everyone should find the one they love and be faithful ever after.
3 celeb crushes: I've tended to fall for fictional characters... Marcus Didius Falco, Shadow Moon, Prentice McHoan, and my first love - Howl Jenkins. A challenge - I bet you can't identify more than one of these without using Google! (I obviously go for men with really weird names from the look of it. If you ask me, I will tell you what books they come from).
______________________________________________________
I haven't done any proper exercise, other than going for walks, for days. This is partly because my gym membership ran out, and partly because I am a bit disorganised and haven't actually got myself out for a run. However, it is now less than two weeks to the Race for Life, so I had better get myself in gear. The gym membership is sorted out, and I have my gym kit with me. No more excuses.
I wen to my brother's graduation ceremony yesterday: he looked so dashing and handsome in his kilt, gown and hood. So I'm giving that as an excuse for eating chocolate mousse at the meal afterwards - I mean, how often does one's only brother graduate? It makes me feel rather ancient to know that my baby brother has a degree, though...
Monday, June 20, 2005
Bad to worse to better. Sort of
I posted that last one in the morning, and by late afternoon I was feeling a bit better. A friend had asked me to go to the pictures with her, and I was looking forward to that. I needed a change of scene.
So at half-past eight I finished getting ready, and left the house, pausing only to collect my engagement ring from the shelf next to the sink, where I'd put it after taking it off to do the dishes.
I tend to assume that I'm running late, so I ran down the lane from our house and belted towards the bus stop. Halfway there, I suddenly realised my ring was no longer on my finger.
Now this ring is probably my single most valuable possession. Not just because it was expensive, but because of what it stands for. Probably once I had a wedding ring I wouldn't wear it every day, but at the moment I do. I have noticed that it fits a little more loosely on my finger than it did when we bought it, especially when my hands are cold - perhaps I've lost weight in my hands... But I hadn't thought the ring was loose enough to fall off.
I retraced my steps (I was still within about 100 yards of my house) and scanned the ground, as you do. I couldn't see it. By the time I reached the top of the lane, I was beginning to panic somewhat, so I went back in and told my parents what had happened.
"It's on the shelf in the kitchen," Mum said, causing my heart to leap and then subside again. Of course, it was, until two minutes previously when I put it on.
In the three hours that followed, I wished a hundred times that I could rewind that two minutes. I called my friend to tell her I wasn't coming, and combed the ground with my parents and my brother. These are noble and good people, I tell you. I went back to the house and made absolutely sure that the ring hadn't dropped into my handbag, got into my pocket somehow, or caught on my clothing or hair (things do sometimes wind up there. It's long hair). Then we all studied the pavement and the roadway in depth, my brother using a torch to catch any reflections. We went over the gravel in our drive. We raked painstakingly through all the leaf litter in the lane. Neighbours saw what we were doing and came to help. Dad and my brother swept all the litter into bags to sort through later! We kept doing this until it got dark. No ring.
On Friday, Mum hired a metal detector and we went over the whole area again, including the hedge. I tell you, running a detector over the entire surface of an eight-foot-high privet hedge gives your biceps a good workout. But we didn't find it. I embarked on a thorough tidy of my bedroom, just in case it had dropped off in there somewhere, although I really don't think so. That has taken me most of the weekend (yes, I know it shouldn't take me that long to tidy one room). Still no ring.
This evening, I'm going to go through the bags of leaf-litter with the detector, and then... I don't know what to do. I've reported the loss to the police in case anyone hands it in. It is insured, but that's not really the point, is it? I just want it back so badly. I couldn't write a blog entry about it until now, I felt so sick about it. I have calmed down now, although frankly I have stopped expecting ever to find it. My workmates are trying to cheer me up by telling me stories of rings lost and found again, and it's also true that Mum lost her engagement ring, years ago, and found it days later in the street. So it is possible. But it seems unlikely.
I know that it's not the most admirable or sensible thing to get so attached to material possessions. As my mum says, it is only a bit of metal and stone. But I just feel so stupid - because I knew it was loose and didn't do anything about it, because I'd only just put it on, because it MUST be near somewhere if we could only find it. I hardly think there was time for a passerby to pick it up. And it's not just any old ring, it's my engagement ring. Nine months ago, it felt very odd to have a ring on that hand. Now my finger feels naked and I keep putting my thumb on my ring finger out of habit, checking the ring is securely on - only to find nothing there.
In a way, too, I feel as though I was warned this would happen because of the dream I had about breaking the ring. I know that's stupid, that it's a complete coincidence. I'm not the superstitious type, and I certainly don't believe that your dreams predict the future. But if you'd dreamt about losing something and then really lost it, you might feel a bit weird about it.
On the bright side, however, I have not had occasion to punch David Tennant. Nor do I want to. But I think it's just as well that he'll be busy getting ready to film the new series of Doctor Who and therefore not likely to cross my path.
If you should find a gold ring with an oval, pale blue sapphire surrounded by little diamonds, you might let me know...
So at half-past eight I finished getting ready, and left the house, pausing only to collect my engagement ring from the shelf next to the sink, where I'd put it after taking it off to do the dishes.
I tend to assume that I'm running late, so I ran down the lane from our house and belted towards the bus stop. Halfway there, I suddenly realised my ring was no longer on my finger.
Now this ring is probably my single most valuable possession. Not just because it was expensive, but because of what it stands for. Probably once I had a wedding ring I wouldn't wear it every day, but at the moment I do. I have noticed that it fits a little more loosely on my finger than it did when we bought it, especially when my hands are cold - perhaps I've lost weight in my hands... But I hadn't thought the ring was loose enough to fall off.
I retraced my steps (I was still within about 100 yards of my house) and scanned the ground, as you do. I couldn't see it. By the time I reached the top of the lane, I was beginning to panic somewhat, so I went back in and told my parents what had happened.
"It's on the shelf in the kitchen," Mum said, causing my heart to leap and then subside again. Of course, it was, until two minutes previously when I put it on.
In the three hours that followed, I wished a hundred times that I could rewind that two minutes. I called my friend to tell her I wasn't coming, and combed the ground with my parents and my brother. These are noble and good people, I tell you. I went back to the house and made absolutely sure that the ring hadn't dropped into my handbag, got into my pocket somehow, or caught on my clothing or hair (things do sometimes wind up there. It's long hair). Then we all studied the pavement and the roadway in depth, my brother using a torch to catch any reflections. We went over the gravel in our drive. We raked painstakingly through all the leaf litter in the lane. Neighbours saw what we were doing and came to help. Dad and my brother swept all the litter into bags to sort through later! We kept doing this until it got dark. No ring.
On Friday, Mum hired a metal detector and we went over the whole area again, including the hedge. I tell you, running a detector over the entire surface of an eight-foot-high privet hedge gives your biceps a good workout. But we didn't find it. I embarked on a thorough tidy of my bedroom, just in case it had dropped off in there somewhere, although I really don't think so. That has taken me most of the weekend (yes, I know it shouldn't take me that long to tidy one room). Still no ring.
This evening, I'm going to go through the bags of leaf-litter with the detector, and then... I don't know what to do. I've reported the loss to the police in case anyone hands it in. It is insured, but that's not really the point, is it? I just want it back so badly. I couldn't write a blog entry about it until now, I felt so sick about it. I have calmed down now, although frankly I have stopped expecting ever to find it. My workmates are trying to cheer me up by telling me stories of rings lost and found again, and it's also true that Mum lost her engagement ring, years ago, and found it days later in the street. So it is possible. But it seems unlikely.
I know that it's not the most admirable or sensible thing to get so attached to material possessions. As my mum says, it is only a bit of metal and stone. But I just feel so stupid - because I knew it was loose and didn't do anything about it, because I'd only just put it on, because it MUST be near somewhere if we could only find it. I hardly think there was time for a passerby to pick it up. And it's not just any old ring, it's my engagement ring. Nine months ago, it felt very odd to have a ring on that hand. Now my finger feels naked and I keep putting my thumb on my ring finger out of habit, checking the ring is securely on - only to find nothing there.
In a way, too, I feel as though I was warned this would happen because of the dream I had about breaking the ring. I know that's stupid, that it's a complete coincidence. I'm not the superstitious type, and I certainly don't believe that your dreams predict the future. But if you'd dreamt about losing something and then really lost it, you might feel a bit weird about it.
On the bright side, however, I have not had occasion to punch David Tennant. Nor do I want to. But I think it's just as well that he'll be busy getting ready to film the new series of Doctor Who and therefore not likely to cross my path.
If you should find a gold ring with an oval, pale blue sapphire surrounded by little diamonds, you might let me know...
Thursday, June 16, 2005
The sky is grey
Everything, it seems, is going well. I've just heard that I've got a new job that I really wanted, a graduate traineeship in an archive . The D. B. has also got a job here to start in the autumn, has got top marks in his exams and seems cheerful at the moment (he suffers from OCD and clinical depression, so you can't take that for granted). I got back to my lowest weight last week. I have new shoes and an Ursula Le Guin book that I haven't read yet. Everything in the garden is lovely...
...but I'm sad today, with the sort of unspecified gloom that I used to feel as a teenager. Everything seems imbued with melancholy. I feel heavy and weary. The past few nights I've either had great difficulty getting to sleep, or have gone to bed unusually early and slept as deeply as if someone had drugged me. My dreams are disturbing: I accidentally smash the stone of my engagement ring to fragments (I'm sure Freud would have a field day there), or punch David Tennant in the face (what's he ever done to me?)
I'd attribute it to PMS were it not for the fact that I just had my period. Maybe the prospect of everything coming right at last is frightening, in a way: the excuses are gone; I'll have to stop being a child and really start living my life - see about mortgages and pensions and goodness knows what else. I want to (doesn't everyone who's still living at home post-university?) but it's a bit daunting all the same.
Or maybe it's just the weather. Edinburgh has been sulking and slouching beneath a low grey sky for days now. A fresh breeze, a bit of sunshine, and a day out somewhere would probably work wonders, but, alas, these don't come to order. I'm not the kind of person who usually spends the week longing for the weekend – it's wishing your life away, I always feel – but I won't be sorry when this one ends.
...but I'm sad today, with the sort of unspecified gloom that I used to feel as a teenager. Everything seems imbued with melancholy. I feel heavy and weary. The past few nights I've either had great difficulty getting to sleep, or have gone to bed unusually early and slept as deeply as if someone had drugged me. My dreams are disturbing: I accidentally smash the stone of my engagement ring to fragments (I'm sure Freud would have a field day there), or punch David Tennant in the face (what's he ever done to me?)
I'd attribute it to PMS were it not for the fact that I just had my period. Maybe the prospect of everything coming right at last is frightening, in a way: the excuses are gone; I'll have to stop being a child and really start living my life - see about mortgages and pensions and goodness knows what else. I want to (doesn't everyone who's still living at home post-university?) but it's a bit daunting all the same.
Or maybe it's just the weather. Edinburgh has been sulking and slouching beneath a low grey sky for days now. A fresh breeze, a bit of sunshine, and a day out somewhere would probably work wonders, but, alas, these don't come to order. I'm not the kind of person who usually spends the week longing for the weekend – it's wishing your life away, I always feel – but I won't be sorry when this one ends.
Wednesday, June 15, 2005
Arm-y matters
So how did I do with the goals?
1. Well, I went twice, but when I wrote this I'd forgotten that I was going away for the weekend to help my sister move flats. So I couldn't go on Friday. But I reckon that all the hefting of boxes, flat-cleaning and running up and down several flights of stairs counts for something. I went again on Monday (and ran) and will go tomorrow.
2. I did this, and also went for a long walk around a reservoir on Saturday with Dad and my sister.
3. I did fairly well. On the other hand, I didn't eat terribly healthily over the weekend, because we were kind of living from hand to mouth because of the flat-move. I have definitely fallen off the wagon regarding resisting desserts (apple cake on Friday. Danish pastry AND waffle on Saturday. Lemon meringue pie today - OK, that's enough of that).
4. Emm, well, I definitely drank more water than I usually do.
This week, my initial three months' gym membership ran out. It feels like a good moment for a stocktake. Since I started I've learned to run on a treadmill and use a set of unfamiliar weight machines (twice. I never blogged about it, but I'm on the second lot of Nautilus machines now and am having a great deal of fun on the Gravitron).
I haven't lost all that much weight - about 8lb - but I can see a difference in my shape. Even a month ago, I could see that my calves have firmed up. Although they are not slender, you can actually see individual muscles in them now, and I feel a lot happier wearing a knee-length skirt. I'm aware of having abdominal muscles, too - my stomach has never been one of my problem areas, but even so it's much firmer than it was. My waist is smaller.
My thighs are still ghastly, but not quite as ghastly as they were. When it's hot, I now wear shorts at the gym, and there is no better motivator, I can tell you, than having to look at my thighs as I run. One weird thing that seems to happen when I start to lose weight is that the cellulite on them looks worse, rather than better, and to this end I've cut down on caffeine which does seem to have helped. They are definitely slightly smaller, and the muscle tone has improved, although it has a long way to go. I would imagine that only I can see a difference, but I know I'm making progress. I think I started out doing about 100lbs on the Leg Press machine - now it's 235.
I wish I could say I see a difference in my upper arms, but I just don't. Although I've managed to make progress on the Nautilus machines for back and chest, I'm really not making any on the Tricep Extension and Bicep Curl - particularly the latter. When it's set at 30lb I could go forever, but if I put it up to 35 I can do about 9 or 10 reps and no more (the Nautilus target is 12). It's been like that for months.
Similarly, I can't seem to get past 25lb on the Tricep Extension, although I've only been doing that one for three weeks, so I'll give it time. The muscles in my forearm have hardened and it's possible the ones in my upper arm have improved a bit - but not visibly, and it looks as bad as ever. And it's summer. Short-sleeve, strappy-top time.
Most of the time I don't have too many issues with my appearance. But I hate my upper arms. They are probably the one part of my body I would agree to have cosmetic surgery on, if I could afford it - that's how much I don't like them. There's something indecent about the way they look in a top with no sleeves, or those cap sleeves that most girls' T-shirts seem to have these days, like boneless pink sausages, all weak and flabby-looking.
Not surprisingly, I get annoyed every summer by the lack of Cute Tops with Proper Sleeves in the shops. It's all cap-sleeves, or worse, halters and vests. I do have some tops like that, but I wear a shirt over them. And this summer I have succumbed to the lure of the shrug (even though I think they are kind of silly garments). There has to be some middle ground between vestigial or non-existent sleeves, and mumsy blouses, surely?
For the moment, I have a lot of medium-size boys' T-shirts, which I've re-hemmed so that they hit me just below the waist, rather than mid-thigh. It's not exactly that I mind doing this. I'd just rather be able to buy what I want.
1. Well, I went twice, but when I wrote this I'd forgotten that I was going away for the weekend to help my sister move flats. So I couldn't go on Friday. But I reckon that all the hefting of boxes, flat-cleaning and running up and down several flights of stairs counts for something. I went again on Monday (and ran) and will go tomorrow.
2. I did this, and also went for a long walk around a reservoir on Saturday with Dad and my sister.
3. I did fairly well. On the other hand, I didn't eat terribly healthily over the weekend, because we were kind of living from hand to mouth because of the flat-move. I have definitely fallen off the wagon regarding resisting desserts (apple cake on Friday. Danish pastry AND waffle on Saturday. Lemon meringue pie today - OK, that's enough of that).
4. Emm, well, I definitely drank more water than I usually do.
This week, my initial three months' gym membership ran out. It feels like a good moment for a stocktake. Since I started I've learned to run on a treadmill and use a set of unfamiliar weight machines (twice. I never blogged about it, but I'm on the second lot of Nautilus machines now and am having a great deal of fun on the Gravitron).
I haven't lost all that much weight - about 8lb - but I can see a difference in my shape. Even a month ago, I could see that my calves have firmed up. Although they are not slender, you can actually see individual muscles in them now, and I feel a lot happier wearing a knee-length skirt. I'm aware of having abdominal muscles, too - my stomach has never been one of my problem areas, but even so it's much firmer than it was. My waist is smaller.
My thighs are still ghastly, but not quite as ghastly as they were. When it's hot, I now wear shorts at the gym, and there is no better motivator, I can tell you, than having to look at my thighs as I run. One weird thing that seems to happen when I start to lose weight is that the cellulite on them looks worse, rather than better, and to this end I've cut down on caffeine which does seem to have helped. They are definitely slightly smaller, and the muscle tone has improved, although it has a long way to go. I would imagine that only I can see a difference, but I know I'm making progress. I think I started out doing about 100lbs on the Leg Press machine - now it's 235.
I wish I could say I see a difference in my upper arms, but I just don't. Although I've managed to make progress on the Nautilus machines for back and chest, I'm really not making any on the Tricep Extension and Bicep Curl - particularly the latter. When it's set at 30lb I could go forever, but if I put it up to 35 I can do about 9 or 10 reps and no more (the Nautilus target is 12). It's been like that for months.
Similarly, I can't seem to get past 25lb on the Tricep Extension, although I've only been doing that one for three weeks, so I'll give it time. The muscles in my forearm have hardened and it's possible the ones in my upper arm have improved a bit - but not visibly, and it looks as bad as ever. And it's summer. Short-sleeve, strappy-top time.
Most of the time I don't have too many issues with my appearance. But I hate my upper arms. They are probably the one part of my body I would agree to have cosmetic surgery on, if I could afford it - that's how much I don't like them. There's something indecent about the way they look in a top with no sleeves, or those cap sleeves that most girls' T-shirts seem to have these days, like boneless pink sausages, all weak and flabby-looking.
Not surprisingly, I get annoyed every summer by the lack of Cute Tops with Proper Sleeves in the shops. It's all cap-sleeves, or worse, halters and vests. I do have some tops like that, but I wear a shirt over them. And this summer I have succumbed to the lure of the shrug (even though I think they are kind of silly garments). There has to be some middle ground between vestigial or non-existent sleeves, and mumsy blouses, surely?
For the moment, I have a lot of medium-size boys' T-shirts, which I've re-hemmed so that they hit me just below the waist, rather than mid-thigh. It's not exactly that I mind doing this. I'd just rather be able to buy what I want.
Monday, June 06, 2005
Now listen, self
In an attempt not to write such ridiculously long entries, I am going to try to post more frequently. Famous last words.
Briefly: It’s the start of a new week. I need to kick-start the old motivation after last week’s pitiful gym attendance and two weeks of so-so dietary choices. So I’m going to post some goals for the week, in the style of Mo (four blogs. How does she do it?)
1. Go to gym three times. Get running again after runningless week.
2. On non-gym days, go for a walk at lunchtime. Browsing around a bookshop is not a valid alternative, unless it is really very wet outside.
3. Think before putting things in mouth. Do not eat things because they are there. Do not eat at computer.
4. Drink more water. (I tend to forget to do this.)
There. I’ve set some food-related goals. One thing that I’ve learned while writing this: I am better at exercising than dieting, and I’m not at all good at thinking about food choices in the long term. I think I can compensate for poor choices by being extra healthy the next day, and then I don’t do this.
____________________________________
Mini update - I did go to the gym at lunchtime. The scales now say 189.3, which is only a pound off my lowest weight. So it looks like the holiday wasn't too permanently disastrous after all.
Briefly: It’s the start of a new week. I need to kick-start the old motivation after last week’s pitiful gym attendance and two weeks of so-so dietary choices. So I’m going to post some goals for the week, in the style of Mo (four blogs. How does she do it?)
1. Go to gym three times. Get running again after runningless week.
2. On non-gym days, go for a walk at lunchtime. Browsing around a bookshop is not a valid alternative, unless it is really very wet outside.
3. Think before putting things in mouth. Do not eat things because they are there. Do not eat at computer.
4. Drink more water. (I tend to forget to do this.)
There. I’ve set some food-related goals. One thing that I’ve learned while writing this: I am better at exercising than dieting, and I’m not at all good at thinking about food choices in the long term. I think I can compensate for poor choices by being extra healthy the next day, and then I don’t do this.
____________________________________
Mini update - I did go to the gym at lunchtime. The scales now say 189.3, which is only a pound off my lowest weight. So it looks like the holiday wasn't too permanently disastrous after all.
Sunday, June 05, 2005
Full of a number of things
The fitness assessment, continued...
Next up after body composition was the "flex test". I see from the advice sheet I got afterwards that this is officially called a musculoskeletal test. It tests the flexibility of your lower back and hamstrings. Basically, you sit on the floor with your legs stretched out in front of you and a box against the soles of your feet. The top of the box is ruled in centimetres and the object is to lean forward as if touching your toes, and push a light plastic bar, which rests on the top of the box, as far away from you as you can (holding the position, not bouncing). Probably more easily pictured than described. You do this "cold" as most people improve over one session of stretching.
I was not too worried about this one. I am naturally quite flexible (it's genetic - some of my family are double-jointed). I reached 27 centimetres, which put me above average. In the days when I used to do Body Balance once a week, I was a lot more bendy, so maybe I should go back to that and try for Excellent. My advice sheet tells me that "good flexibility in these areas is very important in preventing lower back problems". This would come back to haunt me later in the week...
However, after the flex test came the good part - the aerobic capacity test. This was a ten-minute test, using an Astrand stationary bike. The resistance level varies depending on the amount of effort you are making - if you are riding easily at level one, it puts it up. Heart rate is measured meanwhile, using a tag that clips to your earlobe, which feels a bit weird, although it doesn't hurt. The rate is displayed on the screen, as is the rotation rate. The aim is to keep this at 60 revolutions per minute, and there's a metronome tone to help you set the rhythm.
To begin with, the problem was cycling slowly enough. I'm used to interval training, starting at a low resistance level, but I tend to cycle quite fast at that level, about 90 rpm. Here I seemed to be more or less frewheeling. There was very little resistance that I could feel. Every so often the assessor would ask me to rate my effort on a scale of one to ten. It was definitely one at that point.
Looking at the printout from the cycle (which looks like a till receipt) I seem to have managed to keep the rhythm much better once the resistance level went up. As for my pulse rate, it started at 99 beats per minute, and went up quite slowly (it took it 4.5 minutes to get to 110). By the end of the test I was on resistance level 3. It was just beginning to feel like work, although I could still talk quite easily (the machine reckoned I had expended 39 calories, as opposed to 144 the last time I did my usual bike course in the gym). My final heart rate was 134.
I don't entirely understand how oxygen uptake is calculated from this, but the verdict was 31 ml per kg per minute, which is apparently an average score for my age.
So the verdict was: lungs well above average, flexion above average, oxygen uptake average, body composition rubbish.
The assessor discussed the results with me. Among other things, she said that I shouldn't despair about poor results as they may be affected by "genetic factors" (hmmm, yes, but if I have a genetic predisposition to be overweight, I'm still overweight, am I not?) She pointed out that as oxygen uptake is calculated per kilogram of bodyweight, a slight loss in weight improves the reading significantly, as you're unlikely to become less fit as you do this (as least, not unless you lost it through being ill, I suppose!)
She is going to e-mail me with training advice - "We might make you work a bit harder." Scary biscuits again? I hope not.
__________________________________
Regarding the Race for Life, this is the story as far as I can make it out. The idea of forming a team from work was mooted by e-mail, from someone at another site whom I've never met. I duly sent off my details. I didn't hear anything more about it for some time, but sent her an e-mail to ask if it was going ahead and was assured it was. I did begin to get rather nervous that we weren't receiving details and sponsorship packs...
Then on Monday I got an e-mail saying that "We have just tried to book the Edinburgh - Race for Life. Unfortunately this race is now full and we cannot get any places." I did a double-take. I'd assumed that we'd all been entered back in March, when the idea was first mooted. Given that this is a city of half a million souls, it seemed pretty likely that places would be limited.
Given that I'd been training as best I could for two months, and psyching myself up for a major challenge, I was, well, a wee bit cross. This wasn't really helped when both my mum and the D. B. (separately) responded to my sorry tale with "Oh well, at least you don't have to do it now". Grrrr.
I've calmed down now. My own organisational skills are pretty poor, so I'm in no position to criticise others'. And I don't know the whole story - maybe it's the race organisers who didn't let my colleague know there weren't any spaces left. I'm not usually the kind of person who gets cross and I can never be angry with anyone for long!
I'm now booked (really booked. I have a number) on the Fife Race for Life, which is on the third of July in Kirkcaldy (pron. Cur-coddy. No, I don't know why. It just is). So I have an extra month to train, but I might end up trying to run in eighty-degree heat. Or pouring rain. The British Summer is like that.
And in fact it's just as well I'm not going to run tomorrow, because this has not been a great week, fitness-wise. On Tuesday morning I awoke with stiffness and some pain in the lower back, which persisted for a couple of days and kept me out of the gym on Wednesday. I did do Nautilus after the fitness assessment, but as it was my first time on the weights after a week off, I didn't push too hard - so I think it must have been the flex test, as I don't normally have any problems with my back and that was the only unusual thing, although it felt fine at the time. Friday was very busy and I just didn't get to the gym. On the other hand, I have eaten better all week. Monday is going to be Fresh Start Day for exercise. Wish me luck.
Next up after body composition was the "flex test". I see from the advice sheet I got afterwards that this is officially called a musculoskeletal test. It tests the flexibility of your lower back and hamstrings. Basically, you sit on the floor with your legs stretched out in front of you and a box against the soles of your feet. The top of the box is ruled in centimetres and the object is to lean forward as if touching your toes, and push a light plastic bar, which rests on the top of the box, as far away from you as you can (holding the position, not bouncing). Probably more easily pictured than described. You do this "cold" as most people improve over one session of stretching.
I was not too worried about this one. I am naturally quite flexible (it's genetic - some of my family are double-jointed). I reached 27 centimetres, which put me above average. In the days when I used to do Body Balance once a week, I was a lot more bendy, so maybe I should go back to that and try for Excellent. My advice sheet tells me that "good flexibility in these areas is very important in preventing lower back problems". This would come back to haunt me later in the week...
However, after the flex test came the good part - the aerobic capacity test. This was a ten-minute test, using an Astrand stationary bike. The resistance level varies depending on the amount of effort you are making - if you are riding easily at level one, it puts it up. Heart rate is measured meanwhile, using a tag that clips to your earlobe, which feels a bit weird, although it doesn't hurt. The rate is displayed on the screen, as is the rotation rate. The aim is to keep this at 60 revolutions per minute, and there's a metronome tone to help you set the rhythm.
To begin with, the problem was cycling slowly enough. I'm used to interval training, starting at a low resistance level, but I tend to cycle quite fast at that level, about 90 rpm. Here I seemed to be more or less frewheeling. There was very little resistance that I could feel. Every so often the assessor would ask me to rate my effort on a scale of one to ten. It was definitely one at that point.
Looking at the printout from the cycle (which looks like a till receipt) I seem to have managed to keep the rhythm much better once the resistance level went up. As for my pulse rate, it started at 99 beats per minute, and went up quite slowly (it took it 4.5 minutes to get to 110). By the end of the test I was on resistance level 3. It was just beginning to feel like work, although I could still talk quite easily (the machine reckoned I had expended 39 calories, as opposed to 144 the last time I did my usual bike course in the gym). My final heart rate was 134.
I don't entirely understand how oxygen uptake is calculated from this, but the verdict was 31 ml per kg per minute, which is apparently an average score for my age.
So the verdict was: lungs well above average, flexion above average, oxygen uptake average, body composition rubbish.
The assessor discussed the results with me. Among other things, she said that I shouldn't despair about poor results as they may be affected by "genetic factors" (hmmm, yes, but if I have a genetic predisposition to be overweight, I'm still overweight, am I not?) She pointed out that as oxygen uptake is calculated per kilogram of bodyweight, a slight loss in weight improves the reading significantly, as you're unlikely to become less fit as you do this (as least, not unless you lost it through being ill, I suppose!)
She is going to e-mail me with training advice - "We might make you work a bit harder." Scary biscuits again? I hope not.
__________________________________
Regarding the Race for Life, this is the story as far as I can make it out. The idea of forming a team from work was mooted by e-mail, from someone at another site whom I've never met. I duly sent off my details. I didn't hear anything more about it for some time, but sent her an e-mail to ask if it was going ahead and was assured it was. I did begin to get rather nervous that we weren't receiving details and sponsorship packs...
Then on Monday I got an e-mail saying that "We have just tried to book the Edinburgh - Race for Life. Unfortunately this race is now full and we cannot get any places." I did a double-take. I'd assumed that we'd all been entered back in March, when the idea was first mooted. Given that this is a city of half a million souls, it seemed pretty likely that places would be limited.
Given that I'd been training as best I could for two months, and psyching myself up for a major challenge, I was, well, a wee bit cross. This wasn't really helped when both my mum and the D. B. (separately) responded to my sorry tale with "Oh well, at least you don't have to do it now". Grrrr.
I've calmed down now. My own organisational skills are pretty poor, so I'm in no position to criticise others'. And I don't know the whole story - maybe it's the race organisers who didn't let my colleague know there weren't any spaces left. I'm not usually the kind of person who gets cross and I can never be angry with anyone for long!
I'm now booked (really booked. I have a number) on the Fife Race for Life, which is on the third of July in Kirkcaldy (pron. Cur-coddy. No, I don't know why. It just is). So I have an extra month to train, but I might end up trying to run in eighty-degree heat. Or pouring rain. The British Summer is like that.
And in fact it's just as well I'm not going to run tomorrow, because this has not been a great week, fitness-wise. On Tuesday morning I awoke with stiffness and some pain in the lower back, which persisted for a couple of days and kept me out of the gym on Wednesday. I did do Nautilus after the fitness assessment, but as it was my first time on the weights after a week off, I didn't push too hard - so I think it must have been the flex test, as I don't normally have any problems with my back and that was the only unusual thing, although it felt fine at the time. Friday was very busy and I just didn't get to the gym. On the other hand, I have eaten better all week. Monday is going to be Fresh Start Day for exercise. Wish me luck.
Saturday, June 04, 2005
It is about the numbers, actually
I've been back home since Sunday.
The trouble about coming home on a Sunday evening is that it gives you no time whatsoever to get used to the idea of going back to work. Still, I was determined to get back in the routine, fitness-wise. Especially since I was conscious that my eating habits over the past week had been extremely dodgy. I plead in mitigation that my out-laws, who are otherwise lovely, eat ice cream rather a lot while being thin.
So I packed up my gym kit and headed out of the house on Monday morning. It took until mid-morning to remember that I'd actually booked a fitness assessment for that day after work. Still, at least I had my gym clothes with me.
If I'd been able to choose, I wouldn't have taken the test that day. I'd come back from holiday with a serious cold, and frankly had not got enough exercise over the week or eaten properly (see above). OK, I did go running twice but the second day was very hot and muggy and although I did do 20 minutes, it felt a bit half-hearted (I was on my own that time). I knew I wasn't making the usual amount of effort.
However, I couldn't change it now, so along I went. I was met in the foyer of my gym by the assessor and a young man. She asked if I would mind if a student observed and I said no (I was anticipating that some of this would be embarrassing, but hey, two people isn't much more embarrassing than one). He was taller than me, a first for this blog!
I hadn't got a very clear idea what the assessment would involve. I have never read a description of one on anyone else's blog, so here it is (do skip if boring).
First, there was a brief questionnaire about any health problems (none). Then they asked me how long I'd been exercising, and what I do. I told them: since February; ideally, 20 minutes' cardio on the treadmill, then Nautilus, then 20 minutes' interval training on stationary bike. Sometimes a bit less cardio the second time if I'm pushed for time (I have a ten-minute brisk walk to get to work, which I count as part of cooldown!) This is apparently OK for a start.
Then came the fun bits. First, I had to blow into a lung-function meter. You get the best of 2, as it's supposed to be easier the second time, but for some reason I managed to do a really weedy blow on my second attempt. There's a little fan inside that moves round with your breath, and it measures the speed of rotation - very clever. Apparently my lung function is just short of excellent - which ain't bad for someone who's technically asthmatic and who has gunk in her lungs from the cold!
Next up was the weight/bodyfat measurement, otherwise known as "scary biscuits".
"Don't worry," said the assessor. "We don't do skin-fold tests any more. They're a faff anyway." I was obscurely disappointed by this (I must be a closet masochist) but interested to see that the instrument of doom was a Tanita scale, only previously encountered by me through Erin's journal. This is the kind that measures body composition by sending an electromagnetic impulse through your bare feet. I usually weigh myself with my trainers on, but had a distinct idea that I wouldn't have lost anything last week, so was totally in the dark about the likely number.
192.3. Oh dear. Although I haven't made very rapid progress, I have not had a gain like that since I started. (I do wonder, retrospectively, if some of it was water, as I had been drinking tea like a mad thing - a mad thing with a cold - all day).
The body composition report was... interesting. According to the scale, I have 41% bodyfat, which is frankly rather more than I was expecting. That means nearly eighty pounds of me is just fat, to 112 pounds of other stuff. Although I have an amazing capacity not to know what I look like, if my reaction to photos of me is any indicator, I didn't reckon I had many illusions left. I know I have a big bottom and thighs (yes, and breasts) and that they are composed of fat. But that came as a shock.
Don't get me wrong - I know that doesn't mean I need to lose eighty pounds. There seems to be some variation in the recommended level of bodyfat, but Krista, who I trust, says it should be about 20 - 25% for most women (a bit lower for athletes). That sounds about right - if I had 20% bodyfat, I think I would weigh around 140lbs. Which would be absolutely fine.
Ever since the test I've been haunted by the idea of there being a 112-pound waif in me somehow. Even though I know this is on many levels Not True, my mind can't seem to let the concept go. Probably this is unhealthy in some way.
I will post more on the fitness assessment and the rest of the week tomorrow (no, I really will). Now, however, I'm going to bed.
One last thing - I imagine that anyone who comes here already knows Dietgirl, antipodean blog-heroine and all-round wonder, but if not - she's doing the Race for Life on Sunday. Sponsor her - it's a really good cause. Tune in tomorrow to find out why I won't be running on Sunday (a sad tale, but I've stopped grinding my teeth over it now).
To bed! Night night.
The trouble about coming home on a Sunday evening is that it gives you no time whatsoever to get used to the idea of going back to work. Still, I was determined to get back in the routine, fitness-wise. Especially since I was conscious that my eating habits over the past week had been extremely dodgy. I plead in mitigation that my out-laws, who are otherwise lovely, eat ice cream rather a lot while being thin.
So I packed up my gym kit and headed out of the house on Monday morning. It took until mid-morning to remember that I'd actually booked a fitness assessment for that day after work. Still, at least I had my gym clothes with me.
If I'd been able to choose, I wouldn't have taken the test that day. I'd come back from holiday with a serious cold, and frankly had not got enough exercise over the week or eaten properly (see above). OK, I did go running twice but the second day was very hot and muggy and although I did do 20 minutes, it felt a bit half-hearted (I was on my own that time). I knew I wasn't making the usual amount of effort.
However, I couldn't change it now, so along I went. I was met in the foyer of my gym by the assessor and a young man. She asked if I would mind if a student observed and I said no (I was anticipating that some of this would be embarrassing, but hey, two people isn't much more embarrassing than one). He was taller than me, a first for this blog!
I hadn't got a very clear idea what the assessment would involve. I have never read a description of one on anyone else's blog, so here it is (do skip if boring).
First, there was a brief questionnaire about any health problems (none). Then they asked me how long I'd been exercising, and what I do. I told them: since February; ideally, 20 minutes' cardio on the treadmill, then Nautilus, then 20 minutes' interval training on stationary bike. Sometimes a bit less cardio the second time if I'm pushed for time (I have a ten-minute brisk walk to get to work, which I count as part of cooldown!) This is apparently OK for a start.
Then came the fun bits. First, I had to blow into a lung-function meter. You get the best of 2, as it's supposed to be easier the second time, but for some reason I managed to do a really weedy blow on my second attempt. There's a little fan inside that moves round with your breath, and it measures the speed of rotation - very clever. Apparently my lung function is just short of excellent - which ain't bad for someone who's technically asthmatic and who has gunk in her lungs from the cold!
Next up was the weight/bodyfat measurement, otherwise known as "scary biscuits".
"Don't worry," said the assessor. "We don't do skin-fold tests any more. They're a faff anyway." I was obscurely disappointed by this (I must be a closet masochist) but interested to see that the instrument of doom was a Tanita scale, only previously encountered by me through Erin's journal. This is the kind that measures body composition by sending an electromagnetic impulse through your bare feet. I usually weigh myself with my trainers on, but had a distinct idea that I wouldn't have lost anything last week, so was totally in the dark about the likely number.
192.3. Oh dear. Although I haven't made very rapid progress, I have not had a gain like that since I started. (I do wonder, retrospectively, if some of it was water, as I had been drinking tea like a mad thing - a mad thing with a cold - all day).
The body composition report was... interesting. According to the scale, I have 41% bodyfat, which is frankly rather more than I was expecting. That means nearly eighty pounds of me is just fat, to 112 pounds of other stuff. Although I have an amazing capacity not to know what I look like, if my reaction to photos of me is any indicator, I didn't reckon I had many illusions left. I know I have a big bottom and thighs (yes, and breasts) and that they are composed of fat. But that came as a shock.
Don't get me wrong - I know that doesn't mean I need to lose eighty pounds. There seems to be some variation in the recommended level of bodyfat, but Krista, who I trust, says it should be about 20 - 25% for most women (a bit lower for athletes). That sounds about right - if I had 20% bodyfat, I think I would weigh around 140lbs. Which would be absolutely fine.
Ever since the test I've been haunted by the idea of there being a 112-pound waif in me somehow. Even though I know this is on many levels Not True, my mind can't seem to let the concept go. Probably this is unhealthy in some way.
I will post more on the fitness assessment and the rest of the week tomorrow (no, I really will). Now, however, I'm going to bed.
One last thing - I imagine that anyone who comes here already knows Dietgirl, antipodean blog-heroine and all-round wonder, but if not - she's doing the Race for Life on Sunday. Sponsor her - it's a really good cause. Tune in tomorrow to find out why I won't be running on Sunday (a sad tale, but I've stopped grinding my teeth over it now).
To bed! Night night.
Thursday, May 26, 2005
Smugness alert
On Monday, I went for my first run with the boyfriend.
The D. B's been highly impressed with my keeping going to the gym, and has commented that I must be getting very fit (I wish). If you've been paying attention, you might have realised that we haven't actually seen each other since Easter; it felt like absolute years. So I was wondering if he would notice any difference in me.
Well, he said I was looking "trim" and his mum asked if I'd lost weight. My own mother has said she can notice a difference, but hey, she sees me every day, and she could just be trying to be encouraging (I'm not being negative here. I know her). So that was pretty satisfying. On the other hand, I was a bit worried that the boyfriend would overestimate how far and fast I can run...
We set out late on Monday evening, after dark. The D. B. prefers to run in the cool of the evening, but it felt quite different from usual to me. No readouts to tell me how far I had to go – and I didn't know the route we would be doing, which I think made it harder. Every time we crossed a road, he would go a little way in from the corner automatically, but I would think we were turning right (or left) and would carry on round the bend and have to correct myself. Also, I found that going up and down kerbs really interferes with my rhythm! I suppose the treadmill spoils you, because it's perfectly smooth and in a straight line. I'm lucky that this area isn't very hilly, unlike most of Edinburgh.
The weather was cool and quite windy, which I normally don't mind. One disadvantage of cool air, however, is that it brings on my asthma. No, I've never mentioned before that I have asthma, and that's because it really only comes on in the winter when the air is very cold and dry, or if I have an allergic reaction. This winter was so mild that I never had an attack: in fact, I can't remember when I last had one. I carry an inhaler in my handbag, but I've never once needed to use it at the gym. However, by about 10 minutes ino the run on Monday, I was feeling slightly wheezy, so the D. B. gave me a puff of his (yes, we know you're not supposed to do this). Thereafter I was fine.
This was the first road-test for my running shoes. They stood up to it well, although my blister-area did rub slightly on one foot. I'll pad it up more if I go out tonight. There was one disadvantage I hadn't foreseen. Towards the end, we were running on a path that had a slight slope to it from left to right, and my left leg, which was on the higher side of the path, began to feel slightly cramped in the calf muscle. I walked for a little to try to ease this, but it started again when I started running, and when we got back to a level surface, I felt a slight pain in that ankle. I'll have to watch that, although the pain vanished as soon as I stopped running. The D. B. says he's never noticed this effect, so maybe it's just me!
We did go a lot slower than the D. B. would have gone on his own. He kept to my pace, saying he wasn't in the mood for a big workout anyway (the boy is a saint) and slowed to a walk when I did. The course took us 28 minutes (approx.) – it normally takes him 20. Probably about five of those minutes were walking, either for me to catch my breath or on the sloping path.
I hope we'll go out again tonight, although the D. B. is revising for tomorrow's exam at the moment, so it'll be up to him. If he doesn't want to, I may just go and run up and down the street outside for a while! At least I won't get lost...
The D. B's been highly impressed with my keeping going to the gym, and has commented that I must be getting very fit (I wish). If you've been paying attention, you might have realised that we haven't actually seen each other since Easter; it felt like absolute years. So I was wondering if he would notice any difference in me.
Well, he said I was looking "trim" and his mum asked if I'd lost weight. My own mother has said she can notice a difference, but hey, she sees me every day, and she could just be trying to be encouraging (I'm not being negative here. I know her). So that was pretty satisfying. On the other hand, I was a bit worried that the boyfriend would overestimate how far and fast I can run...
We set out late on Monday evening, after dark. The D. B. prefers to run in the cool of the evening, but it felt quite different from usual to me. No readouts to tell me how far I had to go – and I didn't know the route we would be doing, which I think made it harder. Every time we crossed a road, he would go a little way in from the corner automatically, but I would think we were turning right (or left) and would carry on round the bend and have to correct myself. Also, I found that going up and down kerbs really interferes with my rhythm! I suppose the treadmill spoils you, because it's perfectly smooth and in a straight line. I'm lucky that this area isn't very hilly, unlike most of Edinburgh.
The weather was cool and quite windy, which I normally don't mind. One disadvantage of cool air, however, is that it brings on my asthma. No, I've never mentioned before that I have asthma, and that's because it really only comes on in the winter when the air is very cold and dry, or if I have an allergic reaction. This winter was so mild that I never had an attack: in fact, I can't remember when I last had one. I carry an inhaler in my handbag, but I've never once needed to use it at the gym. However, by about 10 minutes ino the run on Monday, I was feeling slightly wheezy, so the D. B. gave me a puff of his (yes, we know you're not supposed to do this). Thereafter I was fine.
This was the first road-test for my running shoes. They stood up to it well, although my blister-area did rub slightly on one foot. I'll pad it up more if I go out tonight. There was one disadvantage I hadn't foreseen. Towards the end, we were running on a path that had a slight slope to it from left to right, and my left leg, which was on the higher side of the path, began to feel slightly cramped in the calf muscle. I walked for a little to try to ease this, but it started again when I started running, and when we got back to a level surface, I felt a slight pain in that ankle. I'll have to watch that, although the pain vanished as soon as I stopped running. The D. B. says he's never noticed this effect, so maybe it's just me!
We did go a lot slower than the D. B. would have gone on his own. He kept to my pace, saying he wasn't in the mood for a big workout anyway (the boy is a saint) and slowed to a walk when I did. The course took us 28 minutes (approx.) – it normally takes him 20. Probably about five of those minutes were walking, either for me to catch my breath or on the sloping path.
I hope we'll go out again tonight, although the D. B. is revising for tomorrow's exam at the moment, so it'll be up to him. If he doesn't want to, I may just go and run up and down the street outside for a while! At least I won't get lost...
Sunday, May 22, 2005
Recovery time
Well, that's the longest I've gone without posting. So what happened?
First off, I was ill. I didn't really notice the onset because I had my period and was feeling rotten anyway – although I did notice it was worse than usual. However, when it came to an end and I still felt nauseous, ached all over and had a permanent light headache (which isn't usually one of my symptoms) Mum decreed I should stay off work to recover. So I did, for two days. This might have been a good time to post at length, but firstly, looking at a screen wouldn't have helped the head, and secondly, this coincided with the most beautiful weather we've had this year. So I spent a lot of time in the garden on a blanket. This appeared to do the trick. I went back to work on Friday and then went to the gym as usual, but did come out feeling rather as though I'd overdone it. The next week was rather busy and tiring, mostly because I was trying to catch up with things I hadn't done because I was off work. I've been getting to bed well before midnight and falling asleep as though I'd been switched off, which isn't like me.
The pain in my ribs has mostly died down. Thanks to Rosemary Grace for her suggestion - I think it's probably the right one. I desperately need a new, more supportive sports bra. Should have got one weeks ago, but I've been putting it off. I hate bra-shopping. Really hate it.
I've never had much of a problem finding clothes that fit me (apart from jeans), but bras are a different matter. I wouldn't have thought I have an unusually large, um, chest, but lingerie designers obviously disagree. Most styles in the high street only go up to DD, and as I'm usually E or F, there isn't much to choose from. (The style I bought last time has always been discontinued. That would just make life too easy.) As I head back out of the changing room for the third time, in the vain hope that I might have missed some nice ones round a corner, the saleslady always asks if I want to be measured. I'm not a big fan of being touched by strangers, even when not in my underwear, but sometimes I let her on the grounds that I'm not doing so well finding anything for myself. Usually, I end up trailing after her as she collects every style they carry in my size, even the ones that look like armour-plating or an explosion in a doily factory. There's usually one that fits OK, but the process takes hours.
I always end up feeling like a huge overdeveloped creature. I tell you, in my next life I shall be a B-cup.
Moan over. The better news: I'm back up to 20 minutes run at the gym. I think I've finally solved the blister problem: ordinary fabric plasters over the hot spots, held in place with surgical tape at the sides running from the top of my foot to the instep. I was using Compeed blister protection before, but I think they're better as cure than prevention (they do ease the pain on blisters you already have). The fabric plasters have a bit of give, so they don't pull at the skin underneath.
Notwithstanding the 20 minutes, I think Dietgirl is still going to beat me into the ground when we do the Race for Life:
"On a grassy high school althletics track, I ran one kilometre as per Mistress Julia's instruction and did it in 6:09, which ain't Paul Radcliffe but it was well over a minute and a half faster than the last timed kilometre back in early April. Woo!"
Inspired by this, I kept an eye on the treadmill readout on Friday to see how long it takes me to do a kilometre – 10:17, which isn't going to break any records. I admit I can run faster than that, but not if I want to keep going for 20 minutes. D-Girl has been at it longer than I have and has actually done some proper running outside, which I keep meaning to do but am too much of a wuss.
However, I will have to do it this week, because I'm down in England visiting my D. B. So I can't go to the gym. He goes running himself, and I'm hoping to go with him, which I've never done before. It scares me, quite a lot. He's tall and thin and has long legs, and has been running regularly for a couple of years. I suspect he will slow down to keep me company, but it'll be a bit embarrassing: I don't think he knows quite what a weedy runner I am... So wish me luck.
_________________________________________________________
In other news, I've just finished reading Tom Jones, which I started when ill. It's the perfect invalid reading as it has no plot of any importance and nothing terrible happens. I've also just got my hands on the last of the Dalemark Quartet by Diana Wynne Jones, The Crown of Dalemark. I love those books. They're vaguely in the same genre as Tolkien – a story about liberating your country, set in a fictional world which has a much larger back-story which emerges as you read – but everyone is human and the epic is told through a series of smaller, more intimate stories which follow a few characters at a time. It's all very cleverly done. The books were reprinted in 2003 but now seem to be out of print again in Britain - I had to order them through Blackwells. It was worth the wait.
I also saw The HitchHiker's Guide to the Galaxy last weekend and enjoyed it, overall, despite having read the book altogether too many times as a teenager (I know, I'm a geek). I used to be outraged when they changed the plot in film adaptations, but here I was OK with it... perhaps because h2g2 has already been through several incarnations and plot changes, and Douglas Adams had a hand in writing the new screenplay, so I know he wouldn't be spinning in his grave. I thought Zaphod was very fine, although I do NOT like what happens to his second head. Yeuccch.
For purposes of comparison, I've been watching the early 80s TV series, repeated by the BBC, and enjoying it hugely. They're all terribly posh and the special effects are... special. Just not effective. Trillian looks like one of Bananarama. But oddly, post-Franz Ferdinand, Ford's clothing no longer looks as outrageous as it would've done. I feel terribly affectionate towards the whole thing.
First off, I was ill. I didn't really notice the onset because I had my period and was feeling rotten anyway – although I did notice it was worse than usual. However, when it came to an end and I still felt nauseous, ached all over and had a permanent light headache (which isn't usually one of my symptoms) Mum decreed I should stay off work to recover. So I did, for two days. This might have been a good time to post at length, but firstly, looking at a screen wouldn't have helped the head, and secondly, this coincided with the most beautiful weather we've had this year. So I spent a lot of time in the garden on a blanket. This appeared to do the trick. I went back to work on Friday and then went to the gym as usual, but did come out feeling rather as though I'd overdone it. The next week was rather busy and tiring, mostly because I was trying to catch up with things I hadn't done because I was off work. I've been getting to bed well before midnight and falling asleep as though I'd been switched off, which isn't like me.
The pain in my ribs has mostly died down. Thanks to Rosemary Grace for her suggestion - I think it's probably the right one. I desperately need a new, more supportive sports bra. Should have got one weeks ago, but I've been putting it off. I hate bra-shopping. Really hate it.
I've never had much of a problem finding clothes that fit me (apart from jeans), but bras are a different matter. I wouldn't have thought I have an unusually large, um, chest, but lingerie designers obviously disagree. Most styles in the high street only go up to DD, and as I'm usually E or F, there isn't much to choose from. (The style I bought last time has always been discontinued. That would just make life too easy.) As I head back out of the changing room for the third time, in the vain hope that I might have missed some nice ones round a corner, the saleslady always asks if I want to be measured. I'm not a big fan of being touched by strangers, even when not in my underwear, but sometimes I let her on the grounds that I'm not doing so well finding anything for myself. Usually, I end up trailing after her as she collects every style they carry in my size, even the ones that look like armour-plating or an explosion in a doily factory. There's usually one that fits OK, but the process takes hours.
I always end up feeling like a huge overdeveloped creature. I tell you, in my next life I shall be a B-cup.
Moan over. The better news: I'm back up to 20 minutes run at the gym. I think I've finally solved the blister problem: ordinary fabric plasters over the hot spots, held in place with surgical tape at the sides running from the top of my foot to the instep. I was using Compeed blister protection before, but I think they're better as cure than prevention (they do ease the pain on blisters you already have). The fabric plasters have a bit of give, so they don't pull at the skin underneath.
Notwithstanding the 20 minutes, I think Dietgirl is still going to beat me into the ground when we do the Race for Life:
"On a grassy high school althletics track, I ran one kilometre as per Mistress Julia's instruction and did it in 6:09, which ain't Paul Radcliffe but it was well over a minute and a half faster than the last timed kilometre back in early April. Woo!"
Inspired by this, I kept an eye on the treadmill readout on Friday to see how long it takes me to do a kilometre – 10:17, which isn't going to break any records. I admit I can run faster than that, but not if I want to keep going for 20 minutes. D-Girl has been at it longer than I have and has actually done some proper running outside, which I keep meaning to do but am too much of a wuss.
However, I will have to do it this week, because I'm down in England visiting my D. B. So I can't go to the gym. He goes running himself, and I'm hoping to go with him, which I've never done before. It scares me, quite a lot. He's tall and thin and has long legs, and has been running regularly for a couple of years. I suspect he will slow down to keep me company, but it'll be a bit embarrassing: I don't think he knows quite what a weedy runner I am... So wish me luck.
_________________________________________________________
In other news, I've just finished reading Tom Jones, which I started when ill. It's the perfect invalid reading as it has no plot of any importance and nothing terrible happens. I've also just got my hands on the last of the Dalemark Quartet by Diana Wynne Jones, The Crown of Dalemark. I love those books. They're vaguely in the same genre as Tolkien – a story about liberating your country, set in a fictional world which has a much larger back-story which emerges as you read – but everyone is human and the epic is told through a series of smaller, more intimate stories which follow a few characters at a time. It's all very cleverly done. The books were reprinted in 2003 but now seem to be out of print again in Britain - I had to order them through Blackwells. It was worth the wait.
I also saw The HitchHiker's Guide to the Galaxy last weekend and enjoyed it, overall, despite having read the book altogether too many times as a teenager (I know, I'm a geek). I used to be outraged when they changed the plot in film adaptations, but here I was OK with it... perhaps because h2g2 has already been through several incarnations and plot changes, and Douglas Adams had a hand in writing the new screenplay, so I know he wouldn't be spinning in his grave. I thought Zaphod was very fine, although I do NOT like what happens to his second head. Yeuccch.
For purposes of comparison, I've been watching the early 80s TV series, repeated by the BBC, and enjoying it hugely. They're all terribly posh and the special effects are... special. Just not effective. Trillian looks like one of Bananarama. But oddly, post-Franz Ferdinand, Ford's clothing no longer looks as outrageous as it would've done. I feel terribly affectionate towards the whole thing.
Tuesday, May 03, 2005
Faltering forward
Hmmm. Things aren't going too well at the moment.
My running record for the moment stands at nineteen minutes. That was on Friday. On Monday I only managed ten minutes.
I admit, I had decided to go easy on my blistered foot, having taken the dressing off it. But that ten minutes was as hard as the previous week's much longer times. It is quite warm in Edinburgh at the moment, and I don't do well in the heat, being a Real Scot. What's going on? It's only May. Must be global warming.
I went off to do the Nautilus machines, which all felt fine. Then I ran up the stairs to the changing rooms and had... a rush of blood to the head or something. Anyway, I felt sort of dizzy and queasy for a moment and it seemed like a good idea to sit down and put my head on my knees.
At that point several girls came into the changing room and I heard a voice saying "Are you all right?"
I sat up. "Yes, I'm just, um..."Embarrassment always makes me incoherent. I don't really know why I should find dizziness embarrassing, but I do. I fainted for real in Waterstone's once, and even as kind people were helping me up and fetching me a glass of water (and a free muffin) I just wanted to sink through the floor and vanish.
"Are you dehydrated? Are you feeling faint? Do you want to lie down on the floor?" By now, I wasn't feeling all that faint. I was probably a rather odd colour as I was no doubt blushing on top of pinkness from exercising. The girl's motherly air was somewhat incongruous given that she must have been several years younger than I am. Heavens, no, I didn't want to lie down on the floor. I protested that I was fine really, just feeling the heat a bit, had been rushing around too much. This was true. The other denizens of the changing room was watching us by now, possibly hoping that I'd do something interesting, like collapse, or maybe throw up.
She came in with the coup de grâce: "Have you had something to eat today?"
Now at school, when we were in our early teens, this was the line that was inevitably trotted out if anyone had a dizzy spell (the next question was always "Is it your time of the month?"). This was probably reasonable enough. Most teenage girls don't starve themselves, but it's a question worth asking.
Even back then, nobody ever asked me that question.
"Oh, yes" I burbled, surprised. "In fact I think my problem's the other way round, I had to eat lunch too soon before coming here - that's probably not the best way to do it..." The rest of the changing room must have really thought I was going to vomit at that point.
The girl gave me some water and, as soon as she was sure I wasn't going to plunge floorwards, trotted off to her class. I sat there drinking it, feeling as though I'd narrowly escaped being sent to Matron for a lie down and a Dextro-Energy tablet.
After I'd had a shower I felt fine. If the girl who gave me her water is reading this, thank you. I didn't mean to be ungrateful, I was just feeling like an idiot!
--------------------------------------------------------------
Of course I had had something to eat, not an hour before. It probably shouldn't have been a cheese and tomato croissant.
The whole low-GI thing hasn't been going too well these past few days. My parents were away for the weekend so it was just my brother and me, and we are not a good influence on each other. The fact that the bro is revising for university exams at the moment is probably partly to blame. Mealtimes were OK: it's just that we tended to eat snacky things which up until now, I've been successfully avoiding.
So I'm a bit cross with myself. It's not as though the weight is dropping off me so fast that I can afford to mess around. In fact, for the last couple of weeks, it hasn't gone anywhere at all - although I'm definitely becoming slightly more toned, so maybe I am losing a bit of fat but gaining muscle.
Another slight annoyance is that I've developed a mysterious slight ache in my lower ribs on the right-hand side. It isn't very painful, but it makes its presence felt when I run or even if I walk for a few minutes. It feels a bit like a stitch - but walking for that short a time doesn't usually give me a stitch. I suppose I could have injured myself... but I'd expect that to hurt whenever I twisted my torso, which it doesn't.
If anyone reading this has a clue as to what could cause this, please comment! Or even if you don't have a clue. I'd like to know if you're there.
My running record for the moment stands at nineteen minutes. That was on Friday. On Monday I only managed ten minutes.
I admit, I had decided to go easy on my blistered foot, having taken the dressing off it. But that ten minutes was as hard as the previous week's much longer times. It is quite warm in Edinburgh at the moment, and I don't do well in the heat, being a Real Scot. What's going on? It's only May. Must be global warming.
I went off to do the Nautilus machines, which all felt fine. Then I ran up the stairs to the changing rooms and had... a rush of blood to the head or something. Anyway, I felt sort of dizzy and queasy for a moment and it seemed like a good idea to sit down and put my head on my knees.
At that point several girls came into the changing room and I heard a voice saying "Are you all right?"
I sat up. "Yes, I'm just, um..."Embarrassment always makes me incoherent. I don't really know why I should find dizziness embarrassing, but I do. I fainted for real in Waterstone's once, and even as kind people were helping me up and fetching me a glass of water (and a free muffin) I just wanted to sink through the floor and vanish.
"Are you dehydrated? Are you feeling faint? Do you want to lie down on the floor?" By now, I wasn't feeling all that faint. I was probably a rather odd colour as I was no doubt blushing on top of pinkness from exercising. The girl's motherly air was somewhat incongruous given that she must have been several years younger than I am. Heavens, no, I didn't want to lie down on the floor. I protested that I was fine really, just feeling the heat a bit, had been rushing around too much. This was true. The other denizens of the changing room was watching us by now, possibly hoping that I'd do something interesting, like collapse, or maybe throw up.
She came in with the coup de grâce: "Have you had something to eat today?"
Now at school, when we were in our early teens, this was the line that was inevitably trotted out if anyone had a dizzy spell (the next question was always "Is it your time of the month?"). This was probably reasonable enough. Most teenage girls don't starve themselves, but it's a question worth asking.
Even back then, nobody ever asked me that question.
"Oh, yes" I burbled, surprised. "In fact I think my problem's the other way round, I had to eat lunch too soon before coming here - that's probably not the best way to do it..." The rest of the changing room must have really thought I was going to vomit at that point.
The girl gave me some water and, as soon as she was sure I wasn't going to plunge floorwards, trotted off to her class. I sat there drinking it, feeling as though I'd narrowly escaped being sent to Matron for a lie down and a Dextro-Energy tablet.
After I'd had a shower I felt fine. If the girl who gave me her water is reading this, thank you. I didn't mean to be ungrateful, I was just feeling like an idiot!
--------------------------------------------------------------
Of course I had had something to eat, not an hour before. It probably shouldn't have been a cheese and tomato croissant.
The whole low-GI thing hasn't been going too well these past few days. My parents were away for the weekend so it was just my brother and me, and we are not a good influence on each other. The fact that the bro is revising for university exams at the moment is probably partly to blame. Mealtimes were OK: it's just that we tended to eat snacky things which up until now, I've been successfully avoiding.
So I'm a bit cross with myself. It's not as though the weight is dropping off me so fast that I can afford to mess around. In fact, for the last couple of weeks, it hasn't gone anywhere at all - although I'm definitely becoming slightly more toned, so maybe I am losing a bit of fat but gaining muscle.
Another slight annoyance is that I've developed a mysterious slight ache in my lower ribs on the right-hand side. It isn't very painful, but it makes its presence felt when I run or even if I walk for a few minutes. It feels a bit like a stitch - but walking for that short a time doesn't usually give me a stitch. I suppose I could have injured myself... but I'd expect that to hurt whenever I twisted my torso, which it doesn't.
If anyone reading this has a clue as to what could cause this, please comment! Or even if you don't have a clue. I'd like to know if you're there.
Friday, April 29, 2005
Good news, bad news
OK. The main good news is that on Monday I ran for 18 minutes. I was extremely proud of myself for not wimping out around the 14-minute mark.
The bad news? In doing so I managed to give myself a really huge blister. There is a definite "hotspot" on each of my feet, on the inside arch, which tends to rub in the later stages of a run. I thought the new trainers had cracked this problem - and to some extent they have, for shorter runs. I didn't really feel the pain until I had stopped.
I was fully intending to run on Wednesday, blister or no blister - it had stopped hurting by then. However, I woke up that morning with my customary lack of enthusiasm and rubbed my nose. Next thing I knew, large drops of blood were splashing on to my bare foot.
It was the alarming kind of nosebleed which makes you wonder if it's ever going to stop. I got dressed as best I could, one-handed, while holding a wad of toilet paper to my nose, and got myself downstairs feeling increasingly ill. Unfortunately blood takes me that way. My family rallied round with tissues and sympathy, but it was about half an hour before it completely stopped.
I haven't had a severe nosebleed for years and was not prepared for the way it made me feel all morning: mildly sick, headachey and generally weak and wobbly.
Because of how my day works, I have to eat lunch before going to the gym, so it's usually pretty light: cottage cheese and fruit, or similar. But that day my system was saying, loud and clear, that it wanted something warm and carbohydratey and a hot drink. I was in no state to resist so I went and had a toasted ciabatta with mozzarella and roasted peppers, and a latte. I would not normally pick that as a pre-gym meal - indeed, I'm well aware that it's not going to feature on any low-GI eating plans. But it made me feel enormously better. So much so that I could easily face the gym. I'd decided not to run in case it started the nose going again, but I did 25 minutes on the stationary bike and the usual weights. Oddly, I found it easier going than usual - must have been something to do with raised blood sugar levels and caffeine. And I felt fine for the rest of the day, and since.
I can't normally listen to what my body's telling me, as in no way does it have the same agenda as my brain. But I think it paid off that day.
Other stuff: I've been noticing for a while that my abdominal muscles have toned up quite a bit. At choir yesterday - the first rehearsal in a few weeks - I found that I've got a greater degree of control over my breathing and support than I did before. If any non-singers are reading this, support is when you regulate the air coming out of your lungs to ensure you don't run out of breath before the end of a long note or phrase of music. You kind of squeeze from the bottom as though your lungs were a tube of toothpaste. I hadn't anticipated this improvement - in fact, I'd worried that I wouldn't be able to breathe so deeply if my abs were tighter. Which doesn't seem to be true. Concert on Saturday!
The bad news? In doing so I managed to give myself a really huge blister. There is a definite "hotspot" on each of my feet, on the inside arch, which tends to rub in the later stages of a run. I thought the new trainers had cracked this problem - and to some extent they have, for shorter runs. I didn't really feel the pain until I had stopped.
I was fully intending to run on Wednesday, blister or no blister - it had stopped hurting by then. However, I woke up that morning with my customary lack of enthusiasm and rubbed my nose. Next thing I knew, large drops of blood were splashing on to my bare foot.
It was the alarming kind of nosebleed which makes you wonder if it's ever going to stop. I got dressed as best I could, one-handed, while holding a wad of toilet paper to my nose, and got myself downstairs feeling increasingly ill. Unfortunately blood takes me that way. My family rallied round with tissues and sympathy, but it was about half an hour before it completely stopped.
I haven't had a severe nosebleed for years and was not prepared for the way it made me feel all morning: mildly sick, headachey and generally weak and wobbly.
Because of how my day works, I have to eat lunch before going to the gym, so it's usually pretty light: cottage cheese and fruit, or similar. But that day my system was saying, loud and clear, that it wanted something warm and carbohydratey and a hot drink. I was in no state to resist so I went and had a toasted ciabatta with mozzarella and roasted peppers, and a latte. I would not normally pick that as a pre-gym meal - indeed, I'm well aware that it's not going to feature on any low-GI eating plans. But it made me feel enormously better. So much so that I could easily face the gym. I'd decided not to run in case it started the nose going again, but I did 25 minutes on the stationary bike and the usual weights. Oddly, I found it easier going than usual - must have been something to do with raised blood sugar levels and caffeine. And I felt fine for the rest of the day, and since.
I can't normally listen to what my body's telling me, as in no way does it have the same agenda as my brain. But I think it paid off that day.
Other stuff: I've been noticing for a while that my abdominal muscles have toned up quite a bit. At choir yesterday - the first rehearsal in a few weeks - I found that I've got a greater degree of control over my breathing and support than I did before. If any non-singers are reading this, support is when you regulate the air coming out of your lungs to ensure you don't run out of breath before the end of a long note or phrase of music. You kind of squeeze from the bottom as though your lungs were a tube of toothpaste. I hadn't anticipated this improvement - in fact, I'd worried that I wouldn't be able to breathe so deeply if my abs were tighter. Which doesn't seem to be true. Concert on Saturday!
Friday, April 22, 2005
Running just as fast as we can
I walk up to the treadmills, glad to see there aren't too many people here. I was hoping to get the one treadmill where you can't see yourself in the mirror, but it's occupied. Heigh ho. I climb on to another one and enter in a 12-minute course. My new running shoes feel a bit too loosely laced but I've learned that if I lace them so they feel right with my feet cool, they'll be far too tight before long.
Off we go. I start off jogging fairly slowly. I want to be able to keep this up for the whole course.
I have never been much of a runner. When I was little, I had tons of energy but mostly came last in races at school. Lack of a competitive instinct, I suppose - also I was extremely uncoordinated, and I've been told that I "ran funny" back then, with an awkward gait. Maybe I still do.
Five minutes in, and I've gone rather red in the face. I'm beginning to give myself the mental pep talk which I need to keep going to the end. Not really feeling the need to stop - it's just difficult to throw off years of being a complete wuss and giving up at the first signs of fatigue. Only seven minutes to go! You can run for seven minutes. You ran for much longer than that on Friday. Look, 20 seconds, 15, 10, 5... now it's only six minutes. Halfway there. You're on your third lap. You can do it.
From being rubbish at running, I rapidly became convinced that I was Just Not Sporty. I hated hockey. I hated cross-country running or anything that got you cold and muddy. One of my abiding memories is a gym teacher telling me, not particularly unkindly, that nobody had ever taken as long to do a particular cross-country route. I suppose she was trying to spur me on to greater effort, but it didn't work.
"The distance to the ropes seemed several hundred shiny yards. Nan's legs, in the floppy divided skirts they wore for Gym, had gone mauve and wide, and her arms felt like weak pink puddings. When she reached the rope, the knot on the end of it seemed to hang rather higher than her head. And she was supposed to stand on that knot somehow." Witch Week, Diana Wynne Jones. This captures exactly how I used to feel about climbing ropes. How do we encourage the children who don't find that sport comes naturally to feel better about doing it? Physical Education was almost entirely humiliating to me, and I would guess that teaching me was not a lot of fun either.
Strange, but true: it wasn't the cold and the mud that put me off outdoor sports, although that's what I thought at the time. I think it was the compulsory aspect. Later, at college, I was on a women's football team and got cold, muddy, wet, and bruised, and enjoyed it enormously. (A great many people did tell me that I don't look the type. I found that rather satisfying.) Another key aspect, I think, was the chance to start again, among people who didn't know I had a reputation for being hopelessly unsporty.
Eight minutes in. "Mauve" would certainly be a good description of my face now, and my forearms are rather pink too. I go red all over when I exercise, which is supposed to be a sign of a good circulation, although it doesn't look good! I'm extremely warm, and my feet don't exactly hurt but I can tell that they will before the end of the run. Nine minutes. I'm alternating between glancing at the mirror and at the time readout, which seems to be moving frustratingly slowly. My face is shiny with sweat, and my mouth is lipstick-red (an effect which seems to persist some time after the rest of me has returned to its normal paleness). I barely have any concentration to spare for abstract thought anymore. Eighty percent complete. I realise that I'm chanting "you can DO it! you can DO it!" under my breath, which is slightly less embarassing than the other day, when I found myself silently chanting "YOU'RE gonna BE a SUPERheroINE" in rhythm with my steps. I had just been reading a graphic novel, but I don't think that's any excuse. Ten minutes. I try to kid myself that because the readout now starts with 1, I only have one minute to go, rather than nearly two. But the seconds are ticking down. Now there really is only one minute to go. Come on, woman, you can run for one paltry minute more. Forty seconds. You want this, you want this. Thirty. Ten more seconds and you can start counting down. I look away at this point, and start counting for real at seventeen seconds. They tick by. Five, four, two, one... COURSE COMPLETE. BEGIN COOLDOWN.
As I slow the belt down and begin the five-minute walk, I'm pink, my face is wet, my feet ache a bit and my calf muscles feel strangely rigid, as if they were made of hard rubber. But I feel very happy indeed.
Footnote: I started writing this on Monday. Since then I've done two more runs. Yesterday's was sixteen minutes long, plus five minutes' cooldown. Unfortunately, this is still less than two kilometers at the speed I run, but hey, everyone has to start somewhere. I intend to train for endurance rather than speed, and to keep upping the time by small increments.
Next week will probably be Food Week.
Off we go. I start off jogging fairly slowly. I want to be able to keep this up for the whole course.
I have never been much of a runner. When I was little, I had tons of energy but mostly came last in races at school. Lack of a competitive instinct, I suppose - also I was extremely uncoordinated, and I've been told that I "ran funny" back then, with an awkward gait. Maybe I still do.
Two minutes into the course, doing fine, I speed up a bit. At this point, the major problem is boredom. I can't read while running: often I start counting steps in my head just to keep myself focused. I look at myself in the mirror and am discouraged, as usual, by the sheer inelegance of my appearance. My legs in particular look thick and clumsy, and I really need to try to find a sports bra with more restraint... and even my face seems to have gone formless and vacant. I'm breathing through my mouth, which doesn't help the general air of an idiot in search of a village. I cross my arms on my chest for a moment to try to calm the (ummm...) bouncing, and am struck by how weirdly tiny my hands are. I shake my head and concentrate on the figures on the readout. 20 percent complete...
I've just been reading "Nature Via Nurture" by Matt Ridley, which suggests (among other insights) that innate talents become more pronounced as children grow up, because we're programmed to like doing the things in which we have a small edge over others. Conversely, we don't enjoy the things we're less good at. Obviously there are exceptions to this, but it makes sense to me. My best friend at primary school was the fastest runner in the class, and although I admired her athletic prowess, I certainly didn't think of emulating it. No, I was the girl with the book. And I still am.Five minutes in, and I've gone rather red in the face. I'm beginning to give myself the mental pep talk which I need to keep going to the end. Not really feeling the need to stop - it's just difficult to throw off years of being a complete wuss and giving up at the first signs of fatigue. Only seven minutes to go! You can run for seven minutes. You ran for much longer than that on Friday. Look, 20 seconds, 15, 10, 5... now it's only six minutes. Halfway there. You're on your third lap. You can do it.
From being rubbish at running, I rapidly became convinced that I was Just Not Sporty. I hated hockey. I hated cross-country running or anything that got you cold and muddy. One of my abiding memories is a gym teacher telling me, not particularly unkindly, that nobody had ever taken as long to do a particular cross-country route. I suppose she was trying to spur me on to greater effort, but it didn't work.
"The distance to the ropes seemed several hundred shiny yards. Nan's legs, in the floppy divided skirts they wore for Gym, had gone mauve and wide, and her arms felt like weak pink puddings. When she reached the rope, the knot on the end of it seemed to hang rather higher than her head. And she was supposed to stand on that knot somehow." Witch Week, Diana Wynne Jones. This captures exactly how I used to feel about climbing ropes. How do we encourage the children who don't find that sport comes naturally to feel better about doing it? Physical Education was almost entirely humiliating to me, and I would guess that teaching me was not a lot of fun either.
Strange, but true: it wasn't the cold and the mud that put me off outdoor sports, although that's what I thought at the time. I think it was the compulsory aspect. Later, at college, I was on a women's football team and got cold, muddy, wet, and bruised, and enjoyed it enormously. (A great many people did tell me that I don't look the type. I found that rather satisfying.) Another key aspect, I think, was the chance to start again, among people who didn't know I had a reputation for being hopelessly unsporty.
Eight minutes in. "Mauve" would certainly be a good description of my face now, and my forearms are rather pink too. I go red all over when I exercise, which is supposed to be a sign of a good circulation, although it doesn't look good! I'm extremely warm, and my feet don't exactly hurt but I can tell that they will before the end of the run. Nine minutes. I'm alternating between glancing at the mirror and at the time readout, which seems to be moving frustratingly slowly. My face is shiny with sweat, and my mouth is lipstick-red (an effect which seems to persist some time after the rest of me has returned to its normal paleness). I barely have any concentration to spare for abstract thought anymore. Eighty percent complete. I realise that I'm chanting "you can DO it! you can DO it!" under my breath, which is slightly less embarassing than the other day, when I found myself silently chanting "YOU'RE gonna BE a SUPERheroINE" in rhythm with my steps. I had just been reading a graphic novel, but I don't think that's any excuse. Ten minutes. I try to kid myself that because the readout now starts with 1, I only have one minute to go, rather than nearly two. But the seconds are ticking down. Now there really is only one minute to go. Come on, woman, you can run for one paltry minute more. Forty seconds. You want this, you want this. Thirty. Ten more seconds and you can start counting down. I look away at this point, and start counting for real at seventeen seconds. They tick by. Five, four, two, one... COURSE COMPLETE. BEGIN COOLDOWN.
As I slow the belt down and begin the five-minute walk, I'm pink, my face is wet, my feet ache a bit and my calf muscles feel strangely rigid, as if they were made of hard rubber. But I feel very happy indeed.
Footnote: I started writing this on Monday. Since then I've done two more runs. Yesterday's was sixteen minutes long, plus five minutes' cooldown. Unfortunately, this is still less than two kilometers at the speed I run, but hey, everyone has to start somewhere. I intend to train for endurance rather than speed, and to keep upping the time by small increments.
Next week will probably be Food Week.
Friday, April 15, 2005
Tell you tomorrow?
No, I won't, I'll take a mysterious two-week hiatus.
There was really no good reason for not posting. I haven't thrown in the towel. I've been going to the gym like a good girl, and although the weight isn't going down very fast, it is going down (190lb). My legs are definitely toning up a bit - you can see the muscles in my calves. For some reason, however, I've been completely worn out in the evenings, and only fit for sitting around in a heap then having an early night. As I am usually a complete night owl, this means I don't get nearly as much done as I should.
I also seem to have been shopping like a mad thing. Some of it is stuff I needed - new running shoes, tracky bottoms (Scottish for jogging pants). The rest... I don't know. It seems stupid to buy new clothes when I'm hoping to be much smaller. But I now have a spring coat (on sale) and a very cool stripy wrap skirt which is flattering and cheers me up a lot. I think it's a reaction against the near-unrelieved black I've been wearing all winter. However, I shall try leaving my Switch card at home for a while.
-----------------------------------------------
I was a bit worried about buying running shoes, as I always have trouble finding trainers I don't hate, even when they're just for walking around the place. My perfect trainers would be black and as un-girly as possible. As I have small but broad feet, I've ended up with little boys' trainers for the past several years.
Not knowing a specialized running shoe from a moon boot, I was rather dreading exposing my ignorance to the shop assistants. Looking lost may have been an advantage, because as soon as I got into Allsports I was gathered in by a very helpful guy (shorter than me again. Is this some kind of requirement for working in a sports-related job in Edinburgh?) who was quite prepared fetch several sizes of the same shoe and tell me all about the different advantages of each design.
"Any style preferences?"
"Oh, anything," I said, trying not to be difficult. "So long as it's not pink."
Wouldn't you know, none of the boys' trainers, which (going on past experience) I was starting out with, fitted - too loose at the heels. So I tried on some girls' trainers. They were white with large hot-pink panels. And they were too small in my normal size. The assistant went off to get them a size up. "Sorry, we only have the black version left... I don't suppose you want that?"
They fitted, they're black, and for some reason the pink element has been reduced to three little Adidas stripes which I can easily live with (like this. Imagine the stripes are pink.) I've been running in them three times (on the treadmill) and they don't give me blisters.
Cultural rundown of the past two weeks? Lots of Lindsey Davis books, all re-reads; now reading The Magical Maze by Ian Stewart. Went to see Sahara with my brother at the weekend. Very silly indeed - we enjoyed ourselves immensely... The plot is ludicrous, but has the best McGuffin I've seen in ages, while we felt the main characters worked well together. By the end we didn't care about the occasional cheesiness - we were just having too much fun.
There was really no good reason for not posting. I haven't thrown in the towel. I've been going to the gym like a good girl, and although the weight isn't going down very fast, it is going down (190lb). My legs are definitely toning up a bit - you can see the muscles in my calves. For some reason, however, I've been completely worn out in the evenings, and only fit for sitting around in a heap then having an early night. As I am usually a complete night owl, this means I don't get nearly as much done as I should.
I also seem to have been shopping like a mad thing. Some of it is stuff I needed - new running shoes, tracky bottoms (Scottish for jogging pants). The rest... I don't know. It seems stupid to buy new clothes when I'm hoping to be much smaller. But I now have a spring coat (on sale) and a very cool stripy wrap skirt which is flattering and cheers me up a lot. I think it's a reaction against the near-unrelieved black I've been wearing all winter. However, I shall try leaving my Switch card at home for a while.
-----------------------------------------------
I was a bit worried about buying running shoes, as I always have trouble finding trainers I don't hate, even when they're just for walking around the place. My perfect trainers would be black and as un-girly as possible. As I have small but broad feet, I've ended up with little boys' trainers for the past several years.
Not knowing a specialized running shoe from a moon boot, I was rather dreading exposing my ignorance to the shop assistants. Looking lost may have been an advantage, because as soon as I got into Allsports I was gathered in by a very helpful guy (shorter than me again. Is this some kind of requirement for working in a sports-related job in Edinburgh?) who was quite prepared fetch several sizes of the same shoe and tell me all about the different advantages of each design.
"Any style preferences?"
"Oh, anything," I said, trying not to be difficult. "So long as it's not pink."
Wouldn't you know, none of the boys' trainers, which (going on past experience) I was starting out with, fitted - too loose at the heels. So I tried on some girls' trainers. They were white with large hot-pink panels. And they were too small in my normal size. The assistant went off to get them a size up. "Sorry, we only have the black version left... I don't suppose you want that?"
They fitted, they're black, and for some reason the pink element has been reduced to three little Adidas stripes which I can easily live with (like this. Imagine the stripes are pink.) I've been running in them three times (on the treadmill) and they don't give me blisters.
Cultural rundown of the past two weeks? Lots of Lindsey Davis books, all re-reads; now reading The Magical Maze by Ian Stewart. Went to see Sahara with my brother at the weekend. Very silly indeed - we enjoyed ourselves immensely... The plot is ludicrous, but has the best McGuffin I've seen in ages, while we felt the main characters worked well together. By the end we didn't care about the occasional cheesiness - we were just having too much fun.
Saturday, April 02, 2005
Back into action
When I went to the gym last Monday, I weighed myself and found I was down five pounds. Woo hoo! I'm slightly suspicious of this - I mean, no movement for three weeks, then suddenly five pounds? Really? But I'm not knocking it.
I'll be frankly amazed if there is a loss this week, however, and I'll count myself lucky if there isn't a gain. I was on holiday from work, it being Easter and my d. b. being here, and while the week did contain quite a lot of walking, I only went to the gym once and the pub twice. This doesn't seem like the right way round. Chocolate was consumed, as was gooey lasagne, wine, and cake. Not all at once, I hasten to add, or at every meal. But in general, I didn't eat as healthily as I meant to.
The plan was to go on lots of hikes and bike rides in the lovely sunshine, but - alas - it was cold and wet most days. However, we managed a walk of some kind every day, and did go for a long country walk on Thursday. We were probably going for about three hours over fairly hilly country - it's hard to estimate our exact distance because we were partly on walking trails, partly roadway, and we retraced our steps a couple of times. But it all felt good.
As for what I did today - I'll tell you about that tomorrow...
I'll be frankly amazed if there is a loss this week, however, and I'll count myself lucky if there isn't a gain. I was on holiday from work, it being Easter and my d. b. being here, and while the week did contain quite a lot of walking, I only went to the gym once and the pub twice. This doesn't seem like the right way round. Chocolate was consumed, as was gooey lasagne, wine, and cake. Not all at once, I hasten to add, or at every meal. But in general, I didn't eat as healthily as I meant to.
The plan was to go on lots of hikes and bike rides in the lovely sunshine, but - alas - it was cold and wet most days. However, we managed a walk of some kind every day, and did go for a long country walk on Thursday. We were probably going for about three hours over fairly hilly country - it's hard to estimate our exact distance because we were partly on walking trails, partly roadway, and we retraced our steps a couple of times. But it all felt good.
As for what I did today - I'll tell you about that tomorrow...
Saturday, March 26, 2005
Domesticity
Hello Little Bites! (waves)
This week my dear boyfriend is up visiting, so I don't know how much I'll be able to post, as I haven't told him about this blog yet. (He's asleep right now.) Also it seems a bit silly to spend the one week he is here messing about on the computer.
Things are a little out of whack today, as the gym was closed yesterday for Good Friday. I'm off work for Easter, so I spent the morning making a large chocolate Easter egg for the aforementioned d.b. This is most uncharacteristically domestic-goddess like for me, but it turned out quite well. However, I did lick quite a bit of melted chocolate off my fingers.
But the gym is open today and I'm just about to go.
This week my dear boyfriend is up visiting, so I don't know how much I'll be able to post, as I haven't told him about this blog yet. (He's asleep right now.) Also it seems a bit silly to spend the one week he is here messing about on the computer.
Things are a little out of whack today, as the gym was closed yesterday for Good Friday. I'm off work for Easter, so I spent the morning making a large chocolate Easter egg for the aforementioned d.b. This is most uncharacteristically domestic-goddess like for me, but it turned out quite well. However, I did lick quite a bit of melted chocolate off my fingers.
But the gym is open today and I'm just about to go.
Tuesday, March 22, 2005
Mixed feelings...
On the one hand, the numbers on the Nautilus weights are still, on the whole, going up; I haven't strained anything yet (I am remarkably good at doing this); and on Sunday I wore a skirt that's been in the cupboard for a couple of weeks, and it was looser in the waistband than before.
On the other, the numbers on the scale haven't moved appreciably (this is the first time I've weighed myself since The First Time). Maybe I need to ratchet the healthy eating up a notch.
OK, I know that if you're exercising, you might gain muscle which would hide any loss of fat. But I don't believe that muscle would show up after what is still really only two weeks of exercising. Come to that, I'm not sure I believe the numbers on the scale are going to move. Motivation is not at its highest.
On the other hand, it must have been higher this morning, when I rashly sent an e-mail saying I'd do the Race for Life 5K as part of a team from work.
What was I thinking of? It's in eleven weeks, and I am really not a runner. Never have been.
Over the years, at one time or another I've regularly danced, ridden horses, cycled, dry-skied, played tennis and badminton and football - but none of these has required distance running. Maybe I'll have to give the treadmill a go on Wednesday.
Still, I now know that Dietgirl is doing it too... and it's all for a good cause.
On the non-exercise side, this weekend I rediscovered (after 10 years) Ursula Le Guin's Earthsea novels, and enjoyed them very much - probably more than I did when I was younger. I must be tougher though, because I remember finding "The Farthest Shore" very frightening indeed. Back then "The Tombs of Atuan" was my favourite, but now it's probably "Tehanu", which was written about twenty years after the others. I think it's a very fine novel, which transcends genres; but I didn't have sufficient experience of life when I first read it to appreciate all its nuances. I may write at more length about it later, when I've reread them all again.
I feel it makes a wonderful conclusion to the story, but I'll have to get hold of "The Other Wind" now, which I haven't read before, just to see where it goes from there.
I also managed to find an hour this evening to listen to Neil Gaiman's radio play, Mr Punch, and enjoyed it very much indeed. So now I'll have to seek out the graphic novel. Sometimes it seems that everything I read (or in this case hear) just leads me on to another book. Which is lucky for me...
Am going to bed now, to read "The Stainless Steel Rat", which I can guarantee won't lead anywhere but sleep.
On the other, the numbers on the scale haven't moved appreciably (this is the first time I've weighed myself since The First Time). Maybe I need to ratchet the healthy eating up a notch.
OK, I know that if you're exercising, you might gain muscle which would hide any loss of fat. But I don't believe that muscle would show up after what is still really only two weeks of exercising. Come to that, I'm not sure I believe the numbers on the scale are going to move. Motivation is not at its highest.
On the other hand, it must have been higher this morning, when I rashly sent an e-mail saying I'd do the Race for Life 5K as part of a team from work.
What was I thinking of? It's in eleven weeks, and I am really not a runner. Never have been.
Over the years, at one time or another I've regularly danced, ridden horses, cycled, dry-skied, played tennis and badminton and football - but none of these has required distance running. Maybe I'll have to give the treadmill a go on Wednesday.
Still, I now know that Dietgirl is doing it too... and it's all for a good cause.
On the non-exercise side, this weekend I rediscovered (after 10 years) Ursula Le Guin's Earthsea novels, and enjoyed them very much - probably more than I did when I was younger. I must be tougher though, because I remember finding "The Farthest Shore" very frightening indeed. Back then "The Tombs of Atuan" was my favourite, but now it's probably "Tehanu", which was written about twenty years after the others. I think it's a very fine novel, which transcends genres; but I didn't have sufficient experience of life when I first read it to appreciate all its nuances. I may write at more length about it later, when I've reread them all again.
I feel it makes a wonderful conclusion to the story, but I'll have to get hold of "The Other Wind" now, which I haven't read before, just to see where it goes from there.
I also managed to find an hour this evening to listen to Neil Gaiman's radio play, Mr Punch, and enjoyed it very much indeed. So now I'll have to seek out the graphic novel. Sometimes it seems that everything I read (or in this case hear) just leads me on to another book. Which is lucky for me...
Am going to bed now, to read "The Stainless Steel Rat", which I can guarantee won't lead anywhere but sleep.
Saturday, March 19, 2005
If I move, this could die...
I've now been back to the gym five times, and am enjoying it so far. It's already beginning to feel like a routine. I have so far managed not to forget to take any vital bits of kit to work with me, although on Wednesday I did manage to forget the card I write the machines' settings on. Doh. I had to make a bit of a guess at the weight levels (I had a tentative lift before doing my 12 reps) and wrote them down in my notebook, but was surprised to find when I compared that they were all either exactly the same or slightly higher than before, which is how I'd have had them if I'd remembered my list. Obviously I'm a better guesser than I thought. However, I'm hoping to find a way to make a table on this blog - so if I forget the card again, I can print out a copy from work. Cunning, eh? Or it will be once I do it.
Things I've learned since I started:
You can read a book while on a stationary cycle. Most of the people at this gym are students, and it's quite sweet the way they all have books propped up on the readout bits of the cardio machines. I tried today and got on quite well - I'd thought I might get distracted and slow down, but I didn't.
Franz Ferdinand is good energetic music to work out to, especially "Take Me Out".
If you plait your long hair, and then absentmindedly squash the plait between your back and the backrest on the Incline Press machine, it doesn't half dig into your back! And you get a mini-bruise from the elastic band on the end. (I put it in a ponytail today and had no problems, however.)
The levers for adjusting the seats of machines are always on the other side from the one you look first.
------------------
I've also done quite a lot of walking this week, especially on Tuesday, when I had to walk to the Music department at the University after work to take part in a recording of a scene from Othello. A girl I know is setting incidental music to the Willow Scene for her finals projects, so she wanted a couple of people, and I know the play well and love taking part in readings so I volunteered to read Emilia, who has a great speech saying that it's men's fault if women cheat on them.
Not a sentiment I would endorse (nor the other way about, for that matter) but it was fun to read - if slightly surreal. The girl playing Desdemona and I ended up being recorded seperately because otherwise we got picked up on each other's microphones (apparently, this is bad). So I just had to say my lines one after the other, without any cues - more difficult than it sounds. It'll be interesting to hear what it sounds like cut together, and with the music.
I probably won't go to the gym at the weekend because my sister is home from university and I want to spend time with her - but hopefully I'll get some exercise out in the fresh air.
Things I've learned since I started:
You can read a book while on a stationary cycle. Most of the people at this gym are students, and it's quite sweet the way they all have books propped up on the readout bits of the cardio machines. I tried today and got on quite well - I'd thought I might get distracted and slow down, but I didn't.
Franz Ferdinand is good energetic music to work out to, especially "Take Me Out".
If you plait your long hair, and then absentmindedly squash the plait between your back and the backrest on the Incline Press machine, it doesn't half dig into your back! And you get a mini-bruise from the elastic band on the end. (I put it in a ponytail today and had no problems, however.)
The levers for adjusting the seats of machines are always on the other side from the one you look first.
------------------
I've also done quite a lot of walking this week, especially on Tuesday, when I had to walk to the Music department at the University after work to take part in a recording of a scene from Othello. A girl I know is setting incidental music to the Willow Scene for her finals projects, so she wanted a couple of people, and I know the play well and love taking part in readings so I volunteered to read Emilia, who has a great speech saying that it's men's fault if women cheat on them.
Not a sentiment I would endorse (nor the other way about, for that matter) but it was fun to read - if slightly surreal. The girl playing Desdemona and I ended up being recorded seperately because otherwise we got picked up on each other's microphones (apparently, this is bad). So I just had to say my lines one after the other, without any cues - more difficult than it sounds. It'll be interesting to hear what it sounds like cut together, and with the music.
I probably won't go to the gym at the weekend because my sister is home from university and I want to spend time with her - but hopefully I'll get some exercise out in the fresh air.
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