For twenty minutes yesterday morning I fell off the wagon: I ran.
Well. If you want to call slinking amoeboid-like around the block at a snail's pace running, then I ran. Around and around the block, maybe eight times. My foot/ankle/shin felt fine, but my head did not. That little bug is still holding on. It was not what I would call a great run. I don't even think it counts. Let's forget it ever happened.
I stopped, felt much better and headed back to the Y for some more weights. I got to the weight room around 7:30. There were a few elderly women working the machines and that was it. The free weight section (usual hangout of the grunting, banging mass of muscled humanity) was empty.
I started through my circuit: twelve reps at each machine, three complete cycles. I noticed that the other ladies spent more time at each individual machine. They did two or three sets at a time, resting for up to five minutes between each set. This seems very inefficient, time-wise. And it tends to gum up the system. I had to move past them as they sat at their machines staring into space, thinking about God-knows-what.
Here is what I learned from the experience: I am weak!
As I moved from machine to machine, rarely did I have to change the weight load pin. And when I did have to adjust the load, more often than not it was to a position of Less Weight. You know what this means, don't you?? This means that these soft, innocuous, elderly women are as strong, if not stronger, than I am!
I got to the lat pull down machine just as it was being vacated by a waddling, gum-chewing geriatric fairly bursting out of her polyester pantsuit. I sat down, grabbed the bar above my head, prepared to pull it down and to my horror discovered that I COULD NOT BUDGE THE BAR!
On my way out I made an appointment with a personal trainer to meet me tomorrow morning for a one-hour weight session because clearly I need some help.
Bob said yesterday that I should probably take more than a week off from running. He thinks I should take a month off. I wonder what that would be like: not running for a month. Before this summer it was rare for me to take even a single day off. Running has become such a staple in my life over the years. The idea of taking a full month off is unimaginable.
But then, I used to think that taking a week off would send me to the loony bin. Maybe it still will!
Is running an addiction or a lifestyle? I have often tried to imagine what I would have done with myself if running had not always been such a mainstay in my daily routine. What would I have done with all of that time? What kind of person would I be? What sort of friends would I have?
It's a moot point, obviously. But still......