Teach An Old Dog The Same Trick

You’d think I’d be getting smart by now.   Alas, it is not to be.

We heat the house by a wood burning stove so by morning (when outside temps are in the single digits) the thermostat read 62 degrees.  I’m fairly certain that at about 4:50 am, my husband rolled over and took the blankets with him.  I had tactfully told him the night before that I wish he’d learn to roll over without taking all the blankets.  He tactfully told me that there are plenty of things he wishes I’d learn to do.   Uh-hmmm.  Ok.

This time, I will be thankful that he rolled over because the cold woke me up enough to actually get up with the alarm at 5:10 am.  

Which really means, I woke up at 5:19 am when the snooze went off the next time. 

Rising early meant that I would have enough time to run 4 miles instead of rushing to get 2 miles in before 6:30 am.  Yippee.  I have a goal to complete 62 miles in December giving me 502 miles for the year.  One more mile than last year.  That way if I am not able to lose the required 10 lbs for the Fat Cyclist challenge, I can still feel like a winner.  (Seriously, Fatty, 5.2 lbs already? Thank goodness it isn’t a race to see who can lose it first!)

So, here’s the thing.  I was all hyped up to get on the treadmill and run 4 miles.  Even if the belt would be a bit cold to the touch of my bare feet.  Determined.  Focused on those 10 Fatty pounds, I started out at an easy pace to warm up.  But… it just felt like such a struggle.  After 1.5 miles, I actually took it down to a walk for a minute. 

Ugh.  I am molasses. 

I alternated between my easy pace and an even easier pace to get through the mileage.  I figured that finishing the miles slow was better than not finishing at all.  (Lie. Lie.)  By the time I hit 2.25 miles, I wanted to walk again.  This was not good news. 

One good thing about watching the Biggest Loser is watching Jillian shout at the contestants.  I always feel better after I have pushed myself on the treadmill.  I needed to do it.  Suddenly, a mirage appeared and Jillian started yelling at me.  DO. NOT. STOP.  LAST. CHANCE.  PUSH IT.

So, if I was going to stop for a walk at the next mile, I would have to earn it.  Instead of slowing the speed, I increased it for 30 seconds.  Then I increased it again. And again.  And again. 

Soon, I was running over a half mile per hour faster than I was at the beginning of the run and it was getting easier for me.  (I’m inside on a treadmill so it’s not like there’s a wind factor here) I never took another walk break until it was time for the cool down.

Oh, I remember this from last year.  It’s harder to run slower than my ‘natural’ pace.  It’s like I’m using up twice the energy to fight against how fast I’d like… no, need to go.   It’s like having a restrictor plate on my lungs.

Do you think I’ll remember this next year?  Me, neither.  At least, the old dog can learn the same trick if not a new one.