Two years ago, when I was training for the half-marathon, I started jogging or running intervals: first just between lamp posts, then I worked up to whole blocks. One block walking fast, one block running, one block walking fast, one block running. I should have started this by telling you I hate running. Hate it. Love walking. Just love it, love it, love it. Then why did I do this, start running? Because I knew it would be good for me. Good for my marathon training. Yes, I can make myself do things I don't care for in the name of "good for me." It's a sickness, really.
But, as much as I hated doing it, I really think it helped me prepare for the half-marathon and get me in better shape. But another but...then my dog got sick and died, then my other dog got sick, and just after I got him healthy, then my cat got sick, and a year and a half had gone by before I knew it with no interval walks.
I started my old exercise routine again May 1, the day after Lalecka died. I'd kept up with the regular walks, even some long race-training walks on the weekends with The Awesome J, my friend who does 3-day cancer walks, but no running.
Then last month I started the interval running again on my Tuesday/Thursday walks (direct fallout from the "Oh my goodness!!!" reaction to seeing my naked body in a full-length mirror in a dressing room. I don't have such a thing in my house, and now I know why. In some sense, it's my own fault for not having bought any new clothes since the year 2000. I might have been better prepared for the shock had I slowly watched my body fall from late 30s firmness to late 40s flabbiness.). Tall Ginger Boy gets taken out for another mile-long walk those two days so that he can walk faster without Mr. Big strolling along. Don't worry, Mr. Big has walked the first mile and gets to relax and cool off at home while Doodle Bug and I go out again. I started this last year when I got Doodle, thinking it was a good way for us to practice loose-leash walking and bond. He loved it.
I thought for sure I'd be gasping and shin splinting before the first lamp post hove into view. But no, I sprinted straight past the post to the end of the block, no extra effort needed. What?!? Could this be muscle memory from a year ago? Maybe. Or maybe the stars were aligned. Who knows? But not a single gasp, not a single shin splint in sight.
Best of all? Doodle Bug loves it! The first block he wanted to take off, and I had to hold him back. The second block, he changed his pace up and down, trying to sync with me. The third block, we were in perfect striding harmony. We ran three blocks (or three-tenths of a mile) that first day, and now are up to running 7 blocks (or seven-tenths of a mile). And you know what? I can't believe I'm going to write this "out loud," but I'm loving it.
Maybe because he loves it so much, his enthusiasm is infectious. Maybe it's the fact running creates a breeze to mitigate the dang 85 degree heat at 6:30 a.m. Maybe it's because I was in better shape than the scale and my clothes and that evil, full-length, dressing room mirror told me I was. Who knows?
But starting September 3, I'm switching my exercise routine from M, W, F--walk the dogs and weights, T/Th--walk the dogs + second walk/run to M, W, F--walk the dogs +second walk/run, T/TH--walk the dogs and weights.
Who woulda' thunk it?
Showing posts with label walking. Show all posts
Showing posts with label walking. Show all posts
Friday, August 31, 2012
Friday, July 23, 2010
In Which I Walk to London
Well, not really, of course. But I've been keeping a walking log for years, and just went from page 24 to page 25, which means that it was time to add up my miles and see how far I'd walked.
3,585.41 miles.
Yup, I've walked over 3,500 miles. New York to London is 3,471 miles, so if there wasn't a pesky little ocean in the way, I could have walked to London from the house I grew up in. If I can multiply that number of total miles walked by 7 before I die, I'll have walked around the circumference of the earth.
If I average 300 miles a year, that means it would take me just over 83 years to walk around the earth. I probably have over 60 years to go at this rate, and I don't know if I'll be able to walk 300 miles a year when I'm over 100 (which is where I'll be in 60 years). I'd better start walking more!
3,585.41 miles.
Yup, I've walked over 3,500 miles. New York to London is 3,471 miles, so if there wasn't a pesky little ocean in the way, I could have walked to London from the house I grew up in. If I can multiply that number of total miles walked by 7 before I die, I'll have walked around the circumference of the earth.
If I average 300 miles a year, that means it would take me just over 83 years to walk around the earth. I probably have over 60 years to go at this rate, and I don't know if I'll be able to walk 300 miles a year when I'm over 100 (which is where I'll be in 60 years). I'd better start walking more!
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
In Which I Walk
I'm a walking addict. We all know walking is good exercise. In addition to the weight bearing of your own body, and the increased heart rate and calorie burning, walking takes you outside. Outside in the fresh air, and, often, outside your head, too. Oh, it's a great time to think over worries, evaluate problems, tease out a new or better solution to same, but often, I seem to literally leave myself behind as I concentrate on breathing, or pumping my arms, or watching the clouds roll across the sky. I'm so addicted to my five-days-a-week walk schedule that if I don't walk, my back starts to ache, I feel run down, I just don't feel like myself. I miss it. It's me time, when I do something that is just for me. I am an endorphin junkie after all.
And this week's confession: I'm enough of an anal-compulsive-obsessive walker that I've kept a walk log for something like 15 years. It's just a sheet of paper on my refrigerator, with two columns subdivided into date, location, and length, so I can record when, where, and how far I walked. Two years ago I bought myself a pedometer (which I dropped last fall and am trying to figure out if it is still accurate; apparently I'm a klutzy walker), so my distances are more accurate than they were. I drove my apartment complex parking lot and used that mileage to calculate distances when I lived in my apartment for eight years. After I bought my house, it was even easier--the major streets that define my neighborhood are 0.5 miles apart (thank goodness for city fathers and a planning commission that decided a grid system was the way to go with urban planning). I don't mind if my distances aren't completely accurate. If I'm a tenth of a mile short this time and write down a figure a tenth of a mile too great, I'll more than likely make it up another time when I record too short a distance compared to what I really walked. In the end, it'll even out.
I'm on page 24 of my walking log. The total number of miles walked is over 3,300 miles. 3,300 miles!! At anywhere between 1 and 6 miles a walk, that's a lot of sneakers and a lot of early mornings. Rain showers or early morning sun, I'm out there. Sniffles or bursting with energy, I'm out there. Dawn or dark, I'm out there. Even those few days when I don't feel like walking and want to snuggle deeper into my cosy warm bed, I'm out there.
Tracking the seasonal changes has become part of my morning walk. I know where the Cooper's hawks live, so I look for them come spring. I know which neighbor always plants a gorgeous wildflower extravaganza on the front lawn, so eagerly await March and alter my route so I can glory in them. I know which houses leave Christmas lights on all night so in December and January, it doesn't seem so lonely out in the dark, before dawn.
Most of the time, for these past nine years, I've been accompanied by first one, then two fluffy dogs. If one dog is on bed rest, neighbors I've never talked to will stop me to ask where the other one is. So even though I didn't know I was part of someone else's early morning routine, I must be. 'Oh, yes, there she goes, with her two beautiful dogs. Must be 6:30 a.m. and I'm going to be late for work.' 'Hmm, wonder what happened to the other dog?' It's reassuring to know that even when I think I'm at my most solo moment, pounding the streets, thinking about what to make for breakfast and completely lost to the outside world, there is someone in the outside world anticipating me, even if only to mark where they are in their morning routine. We singles don't usually expect that.
So lace up those sneakers, and join me for a walk. Your blood pressure will thank you. You'll see things in your neighborhood you never noticed. You'll meet people you never speak to, but exchange a smile with. It'll connect you to Mother Nature and society in ways that enrich each day.
And this week's confession: I'm enough of an anal-compulsive-obsessive walker that I've kept a walk log for something like 15 years. It's just a sheet of paper on my refrigerator, with two columns subdivided into date, location, and length, so I can record when, where, and how far I walked. Two years ago I bought myself a pedometer (which I dropped last fall and am trying to figure out if it is still accurate; apparently I'm a klutzy walker), so my distances are more accurate than they were. I drove my apartment complex parking lot and used that mileage to calculate distances when I lived in my apartment for eight years. After I bought my house, it was even easier--the major streets that define my neighborhood are 0.5 miles apart (thank goodness for city fathers and a planning commission that decided a grid system was the way to go with urban planning). I don't mind if my distances aren't completely accurate. If I'm a tenth of a mile short this time and write down a figure a tenth of a mile too great, I'll more than likely make it up another time when I record too short a distance compared to what I really walked. In the end, it'll even out.
I'm on page 24 of my walking log. The total number of miles walked is over 3,300 miles. 3,300 miles!! At anywhere between 1 and 6 miles a walk, that's a lot of sneakers and a lot of early mornings. Rain showers or early morning sun, I'm out there. Sniffles or bursting with energy, I'm out there. Dawn or dark, I'm out there. Even those few days when I don't feel like walking and want to snuggle deeper into my cosy warm bed, I'm out there.
Tracking the seasonal changes has become part of my morning walk. I know where the Cooper's hawks live, so I look for them come spring. I know which neighbor always plants a gorgeous wildflower extravaganza on the front lawn, so eagerly await March and alter my route so I can glory in them. I know which houses leave Christmas lights on all night so in December and January, it doesn't seem so lonely out in the dark, before dawn.
Most of the time, for these past nine years, I've been accompanied by first one, then two fluffy dogs. If one dog is on bed rest, neighbors I've never talked to will stop me to ask where the other one is. So even though I didn't know I was part of someone else's early morning routine, I must be. 'Oh, yes, there she goes, with her two beautiful dogs. Must be 6:30 a.m. and I'm going to be late for work.' 'Hmm, wonder what happened to the other dog?' It's reassuring to know that even when I think I'm at my most solo moment, pounding the streets, thinking about what to make for breakfast and completely lost to the outside world, there is someone in the outside world anticipating me, even if only to mark where they are in their morning routine. We singles don't usually expect that.
So lace up those sneakers, and join me for a walk. Your blood pressure will thank you. You'll see things in your neighborhood you never noticed. You'll meet people you never speak to, but exchange a smile with. It'll connect you to Mother Nature and society in ways that enrich each day.
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