flightless hag

A chronicle of the adventures of birdwoman: a lonely, talentless freak who wanders the internet in search of entertainment.

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Location: Philly

I'm a 40-something married white female, survivor of weight watchers, avid reader of pulp. Dogs (not cats), extreme right (handed, not politics), ENTJ, alto, wanna-be knitter.

February 15, 2005

Somebody Bring Me A Bucket

I’ve written before about my running habit. I’m no champion, but most days, I get on my running shoes and put a couple of miles on them.

This morning, I went for my usual circuit and completely crashed about half way through. Crashed with burning arms, burning legs, burning lungs, and an incredible urge to puke like Mr. Creosote. WHY IS THIS HAPPENING TO ME NOW?

I mean, in the three years I’ve been doing this, I’ve had my ups and downs. The first time I conquered Conestoga hill was an up. Trying to get back in after I had the baby was a down. Even during regular times, there are days when it’s easy to do five miles, and days when it’s hard. But it hasn’t been hard like this since I started.

Winter is particularly hard for me as a jogger. I have to use the treadmill, because I’m afraid to hit some ice in the dark and break an ankle. I hate the treadmill. I’d almost rather have bamboo shoots pushed under my nails than run five miles on the treadmill. And I almost never put hills in. I’ve been working on speed – I can run 5 miles in 40 minutes on the treadmill now. But this doesn’t seem to have helped my outside stamina.

The only other excuse is that my body is tired. I gave blood last Thursday. I don’t know if it’s because I’m getting older, but it seems to hit me harder every time I give blood. I get sick (having two kids in daycare, I’m always fighting something, and losing a pint of blood gives the bugs the advantage over me), and I get tired. But then I feel like a jerk about complaining that giving blood makes me worn out. I've been doing it for 16 years or so without a problem.

So I’m terribly scared that I’m losing my stamina and it’s not going to come back because I almost never get to run outside. I’m frightened that I’m going to get really fat again, because I can’t seem to get a hold on my sweet tooth. And the more scared and depressed I get, the more I want a cookie for comfort.

Now that I’ve put this down in words, I feel better. I’m sure it’s just a phase, and come May, I’ll be back on the 6 mile circuit. I know how to keep the weight off, I know how to train, and I know that I have a tendancy to panic. (who, me? nervous much?) But boy, oh boy, was that an awful feeling this morning!



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