A few years ago Ani and I decided to start working out together. Religiously, at 4:30am, I would pick her up (in the snow, people, because it was fall when we started). We saw the effects nearly immediately. The accomplishment and early-morning-energy-expenditure lifted our spirits throughout the entire day. The cardio immediately had an impact on our energy levels. We both slept better, and were better people to our loved ones.
By a few months in we could, with borderline boredom, do an hour of HARD running on the elliptical machines. I was so happy with my cardio fitness. I could do all kinds of stuff, without even thinking about it, and there was measurable progress in my strength and my pants were getting looser. Then I hit a pretty hard weight loss plateau (as in: two months without any loss at all) and got frustrated and distracted and quit.
In January of this year, Ani started a weight lifting program that has made her so strong. I am so proud of her progress, and so motivated by her success, but I’ve been struggling for a while.
My amazing husband has been encouraging, and cajoling, and silent, and motivating in every way he can think of, to try to help me with my fitness goals. It’s been amazing, and frustrating. But three weeks ago, I set a goal for myself: Be able to run one whole mile without stopping. No pace definition, no real timeline. Just one whole mile.
I started at the end of July with an un-moderated (meaning, I didn’t have anything tracking my intervals) run/walk of 15 minutes, three times a week. Today I finished day 1 of week 2 of c25k. I’m getting consistently faster, and consistently going farther, and consistently proving the mind weasel wrong.
Last week my amazing husband and I signed up for my first 5k. It’s a run that’s aimed at fun, and not at speed, which I think will be perfect for me. I’m stoked. And nervous. And stoked. We can do this. I can do this. I will do this.
Today’s numbers make me so happy I wanted to add them: