run til you puke.
I just finished my second of ~30 sets in the Couch to 5k running program. I am using this fella's mixes to keep my intervals on time, since I can't be bothered to keep track of time/distance myself.
Starting up is great, I stretch out a bit, have some water, startup the track on my mp3 player, and start walking. The warmup walk seems like forever as I am constantly thinking "any second now it will be time," anxiously awaiting the real workout, my blood heating up, my heart rate increasing, the sweat soaking my shirt, the reason I'm out here at 2am in the drizzling rain.
Then it comes, the silly cue to tell me to stop being a baby, and start moving, with it, the higher-bpm music. It takes me a few seconds to get a good stride going, but once I match the bpm, it feels amazing. Each footstep a beat in the song, each breath going along with the music. I am in a state, where nothing is on my mind except the beat and the pavement ahead of me.
Then it stops, the cue sounds again, and I zap back to reality. I slow down, and again match my footsteps to the bpm when reality sinks in, and I realize how quickly my heart is racing, how warm I am getting, how the muscles in my legs start tingling, and I realize that I need more, and soon enough it starts again, and I go. Everything fades away again and it's just me, the music and the pavement.
Repeat another couple of times. It's only the middle of my fourth interval of the night and already my mind is telling me I need to stop, it's telling me my legs hurt, it's telling me I'm not getting enough air, it's telling me my back is sore and my heart-rate is too high. It's telling me I'm sweating too much, and my feet are hitting the pavement too hard. It's telling me my bones can't stand up to this abuse, it's telling me I can't continue.
It is telling me lies.
I suck it up and though I have a strong urge to slow down and walk for 2 minutes to catch my breathe before the next run, my urge to complete it is far greater. So I continue til I hear the cue, and even a little longer just to make up for it, and lo-and-behold, I am fine. And though my mind starts dreading the next interval, the real me craves it, the real me needs it, and the real me can't wait.
It turns into an internal battle between giving up, and continuing, and I know I must continue, I cannot quit, I cannot fail. So I go, and I do another four intervals. I do the 3 minute cooldown without realizing and upon completion I am so happy that I sprint all the way back to the house.
I traveled roughly 1.86 miles in about 30 minutes. Alternating 60 seconds of jogging and 90 seconds of walking. Even though only about 8 or 9 of those minutes were actual jogging, I am still really proud and still feel good, and can't wait until tuesday night.
Starting up is great, I stretch out a bit, have some water, startup the track on my mp3 player, and start walking. The warmup walk seems like forever as I am constantly thinking "any second now it will be time," anxiously awaiting the real workout, my blood heating up, my heart rate increasing, the sweat soaking my shirt, the reason I'm out here at 2am in the drizzling rain.
Then it comes, the silly cue to tell me to stop being a baby, and start moving, with it, the higher-bpm music. It takes me a few seconds to get a good stride going, but once I match the bpm, it feels amazing. Each footstep a beat in the song, each breath going along with the music. I am in a state, where nothing is on my mind except the beat and the pavement ahead of me.
Then it stops, the cue sounds again, and I zap back to reality. I slow down, and again match my footsteps to the bpm when reality sinks in, and I realize how quickly my heart is racing, how warm I am getting, how the muscles in my legs start tingling, and I realize that I need more, and soon enough it starts again, and I go. Everything fades away again and it's just me, the music and the pavement.
Repeat another couple of times. It's only the middle of my fourth interval of the night and already my mind is telling me I need to stop, it's telling me my legs hurt, it's telling me I'm not getting enough air, it's telling me my back is sore and my heart-rate is too high. It's telling me I'm sweating too much, and my feet are hitting the pavement too hard. It's telling me my bones can't stand up to this abuse, it's telling me I can't continue.
It is telling me lies.
I suck it up and though I have a strong urge to slow down and walk for 2 minutes to catch my breathe before the next run, my urge to complete it is far greater. So I continue til I hear the cue, and even a little longer just to make up for it, and lo-and-behold, I am fine. And though my mind starts dreading the next interval, the real me craves it, the real me needs it, and the real me can't wait.
It turns into an internal battle between giving up, and continuing, and I know I must continue, I cannot quit, I cannot fail. So I go, and I do another four intervals. I do the 3 minute cooldown without realizing and upon completion I am so happy that I sprint all the way back to the house.
I traveled roughly 1.86 miles in about 30 minutes. Alternating 60 seconds of jogging and 90 seconds of walking. Even though only about 8 or 9 of those minutes were actual jogging, I am still really proud and still feel good, and can't wait until tuesday night.