Practicing Detachment on the Indoor Track
Okay.
Every time I go to the doctor lately, she tells me I should lose weight. And you know, she's right. And I've been trying half-heartedly since I got word about my high school class's 33rd reunion, which was held last October (and which you can read about right here on this very blog). I knew there was no way in hell I'd drop the poundage I wanted to by the big day, but I figured I could at least start the ball rolling. Despite regular workouts and generally cutting back a bit on food, the scale really hadn't been budging. 'Cause you know, I'm of a certain age. And my body is holding on to fat like it was life itself.
But it's not.
Since I DO work out regularly, I've always gotten pretty decent stats, bloodwise. Decent cholesterol readings, normal blood sugar. Until THIS check up. Until THIS blood draw. Cholesterol was a mixed bag: HDL and triglycerides good, LDL too high, by a slight margin. But it was the blood sugar that scared me: one point over the "acceptable" range. Only one point, but it's always been way normal. Sigh. Push has, it appears, come to shove.
So, I've been doing Weight Watchers and revving up the workouts: instead of 35-40 minute Nordic Track workouts, I've been doing 45-50 minutes. And I've been going to the track or running along the lakefront two or three times a week, trying to get back up to a full 5K+ of straight running. (Right now, my runs are iPod driven: walk one song; run two. Next week I'm going to move up to running three songs in a row. Slow and steady avoids injuries!) So far, so good: I've only lost five pounds in the last three weeks, but I've dropped a size--at least I'm moving in the right direction.
It's at the track that I need to develop a Zen attitude, though, because I have to tell ya: my fellow track denizens may well make me blow a gasket if I don't. I'm usually pretty even-tempered--except when I drive--and maybe there is something to being in motion that turns on the foul type-A demon that lurks within me...
First, let me say that this track is in the park house of the suburb where I work. As a perk of employment, we get the residents' rate on health-club membership there, and it is a very nice facility (as one would expect; it's a very affluent 'burb). The track is cushy, and it's 1/8 mile around. And it's open to the public. And there's the rub. The public. The residents of this affluent 'burb, who just ooze the expectation of entitlement for themselves and their wretched spawn.
Case in point: the guy who was walking with weights today--IN THE RUNNING LANE! There are three lanes: walking, jogging, running. Someone who is walking in the running lane puts everyone at risk for pile ups. People pointed out the big sign that designated the lane, but he just kept on going... A variation on this theme is the group of just-the-other-side-of-elderly matrons who form a phalanx across all three lanes, strolling at a leisurely mile per hour pace and trailing combatting musk-and-spice fragrances. Really nice to have to dodge them (if one even can) AND get a nice lungful of their effluvia at the same time.
Then there are the aforementioned wretched spawn. The track rules say that children under 11 years of age must be supervised by an adult. Key word here: supervised. Kiddies come with mom, and she does her walk, earphones firmly planted in ears and mind floating off in the ether somewhere--kids? what kids? Meanwhile, her charming tykes are running the track in the opposite direction of motion, rolling around on it, racing each other and using the old folks who are just trying to stay kind of spry as slolum markers...Sigh.
But none of the above annoy me half as much as my nemesis: the girly girl runner. We've all seen her: in decent shape and not even all that slow, but she runs like she's in Swan Lake: en pointe (my heels will never, EVER, touch this track!) with wrists elevated and flapping as if she hopes to become airborne. Mince after that prince, baby! And, of course, it doesn't gall me at all that every girly girl runner I have ever encountered has run faster than me. No. No gall at all.
Me? I'm pretty slow, but Jeff tells me that I run like a litte Marine girl--all form and purpose (but, yeah, not much actual speed). Running is empowering. Why would any self-respecting woman prance around the track like the fairy queen? Feh.
So, as you can see, I need to get all Zen about running on the track. Detach. Concentrate on myself, my form, my speed, my breathing, not on track hogs or wretched suburban spawn or girly girls who pass me, prissing. Easier said than done.
But hey! I love to run along the lakefront. Well, except for the assholes who ride their bikes on the sidewalk. Don't get me started on them! Heh!
Every time I go to the doctor lately, she tells me I should lose weight. And you know, she's right. And I've been trying half-heartedly since I got word about my high school class's 33rd reunion, which was held last October (and which you can read about right here on this very blog). I knew there was no way in hell I'd drop the poundage I wanted to by the big day, but I figured I could at least start the ball rolling. Despite regular workouts and generally cutting back a bit on food, the scale really hadn't been budging. 'Cause you know, I'm of a certain age. And my body is holding on to fat like it was life itself.
But it's not.
Since I DO work out regularly, I've always gotten pretty decent stats, bloodwise. Decent cholesterol readings, normal blood sugar. Until THIS check up. Until THIS blood draw. Cholesterol was a mixed bag: HDL and triglycerides good, LDL too high, by a slight margin. But it was the blood sugar that scared me: one point over the "acceptable" range. Only one point, but it's always been way normal. Sigh. Push has, it appears, come to shove.
So, I've been doing Weight Watchers and revving up the workouts: instead of 35-40 minute Nordic Track workouts, I've been doing 45-50 minutes. And I've been going to the track or running along the lakefront two or three times a week, trying to get back up to a full 5K+ of straight running. (Right now, my runs are iPod driven: walk one song; run two. Next week I'm going to move up to running three songs in a row. Slow and steady avoids injuries!) So far, so good: I've only lost five pounds in the last three weeks, but I've dropped a size--at least I'm moving in the right direction.
It's at the track that I need to develop a Zen attitude, though, because I have to tell ya: my fellow track denizens may well make me blow a gasket if I don't. I'm usually pretty even-tempered--except when I drive--and maybe there is something to being in motion that turns on the foul type-A demon that lurks within me...
First, let me say that this track is in the park house of the suburb where I work. As a perk of employment, we get the residents' rate on health-club membership there, and it is a very nice facility (as one would expect; it's a very affluent 'burb). The track is cushy, and it's 1/8 mile around. And it's open to the public. And there's the rub. The public. The residents of this affluent 'burb, who just ooze the expectation of entitlement for themselves and their wretched spawn.
Case in point: the guy who was walking with weights today--IN THE RUNNING LANE! There are three lanes: walking, jogging, running. Someone who is walking in the running lane puts everyone at risk for pile ups. People pointed out the big sign that designated the lane, but he just kept on going... A variation on this theme is the group of just-the-other-side-of-elderly matrons who form a phalanx across all three lanes, strolling at a leisurely mile per hour pace and trailing combatting musk-and-spice fragrances. Really nice to have to dodge them (if one even can) AND get a nice lungful of their effluvia at the same time.
Then there are the aforementioned wretched spawn. The track rules say that children under 11 years of age must be supervised by an adult. Key word here: supervised. Kiddies come with mom, and she does her walk, earphones firmly planted in ears and mind floating off in the ether somewhere--kids? what kids? Meanwhile, her charming tykes are running the track in the opposite direction of motion, rolling around on it, racing each other and using the old folks who are just trying to stay kind of spry as slolum markers...Sigh.
But none of the above annoy me half as much as my nemesis: the girly girl runner. We've all seen her: in decent shape and not even all that slow, but she runs like she's in Swan Lake: en pointe (my heels will never, EVER, touch this track!) with wrists elevated and flapping as if she hopes to become airborne. Mince after that prince, baby! And, of course, it doesn't gall me at all that every girly girl runner I have ever encountered has run faster than me. No. No gall at all.
Me? I'm pretty slow, but Jeff tells me that I run like a litte Marine girl--all form and purpose (but, yeah, not much actual speed). Running is empowering. Why would any self-respecting woman prance around the track like the fairy queen? Feh.
So, as you can see, I need to get all Zen about running on the track. Detach. Concentrate on myself, my form, my speed, my breathing, not on track hogs or wretched suburban spawn or girly girls who pass me, prissing. Easier said than done.
But hey! I love to run along the lakefront. Well, except for the assholes who ride their bikes on the sidewalk. Don't get me started on them! Heh!
Labels: annoyances, fitness, Nordic Track, running
posted by Cathy VanPatten at 10:22 PM
2 Comments:
I feel your frustration, my friend! Yes, the pixies in spandex are my favorite! You keep on keeping on! I'm on Weight Watchers, too. I use the online program. Just got back into the swing, so I'll keep you posted. Gotta add the treadmill as well! Best wishes! Hugs and kisses! See in about a month!!!
Pixies in spandex! I love it!
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