Sunday, January 9, 2011

Progress? You Be the Judge.

Trying to be good about sticking to a workout plan. I'll give myself a C plus. Here's why:

Monday I sort of overdid it. Went to the gym (for the first time in months, I may add), ran on the treadmill, which I loathe, for 23 whopping minutes at a 9:50 pace. I don't loathe running, I loathe it on the treadmill. I feel like a hamster. It doesn't matter what I have there to distract me, I get insta-bored. I can run the same trail in Central Park 900 times -- and I have -- and while it's mind-numbing, it's not nearly as boring as a treadmill. Anyways, I was proud of my 23 minutes.

But the real reason I was there was to get my arse back in the pool, and after a few stretches, it was my turn in the water, and I had the whole lane to myself for nearly 45 minutes. I was pretty happy at how much I remembered as far as stroke technique goes, and was able to go two laps at a time. Granted, the pool is maybe five feet long (it's a hotel pool, after all. NYSC has a club in the Courtyard by Marriott on 49th Street.) but after a few months away, it was a good start.

Well, it was good that it was overdid, because I had no time the rest of the week to get back to the gym -- or to put it another way, I didn't, until Friday. Teammate and assistant coach David made me promise to go to the gym, and said he'd go with me. So on Friday morning, we went to a gym semi-close to where he works, and close to where I'd be working that day, and he led me through a pretty intense leg workout. As much as I hate getting up early, I know that if I don't work out early, chances are good I won't go later. So I'm glad we went, and I enjoyed the company. Ex-roomie Bill and I used to work out together once a week when he was doing a small group training session and needed an extra gym session. I miss those. As much as I enjoy running solo, I prefer being in a gym with a partner.

Did I say ex-roomie? Yes, Bill moved out in the fall, having found love, and they moved in together in a gorgeous house up in Westchester. So I am solo again, and debating looking for a new roomie. On one hand, I enjoy the company. On the other, I like walking around the house nekkid sometimes. What's a girl to do?

Saturday was supposed to be the Fred Lebow 5-Miler in the Park, but because of the impending snowstorm that ultimately didn't really amount to anything, they postponed it to Sunday AM. Bad news for me, because Saturday night was a dear friend's birthday, and I was not about to not celebrate. Fortunately, NYRR decreed that the race counted towards the 9+1, regardless of whether they ran it, so two down, 7+1 to go. I wonder if it's possible to get the nine races without ever running a single race? Let me test this theory a little more...

So yes, I did indeed oversleep, but did very much want to get a five-miler in anyway. And I tried. But there was just no having it today. I could not get my breathing right at all. I got up Cat Hill and had to stop. Ditto at the Fred statue. At that point, I realized it best to turn it into a three miler and just head back from whence I came. I think that at below a certain temperature, I just am not able to take in enough oxygen or something. That's my hypothesis, at least, because during the Midnight Run, it was 40 degrees and I had no issues. Today's run was 30 degrees, and I had plenty of issues. I am a mouth breather, which I know isn't great in cold weather, and I tried keeping my mouth closed more during the run back, which did help, but it was still a byatch. And the four glasses of wine and champagne last night probably didn't help much with my efforts today, either.

On the non-running front, I bit the bullet and will be going on my first JDate date this week, although after receiving one of the lamest opening lines from JDaters this week -- "You're pretty. I want to take you to dinner" -- I am really ready to get off that site for good. I have had friends tell me that there are other sites that are much less of a meat market for women and aren't hostile to members of the Tribe (and I ain't talking about Cleveland Indians fans). Yes, it is flattering to be told I'm pretty, but coming from someone 20 years older than me -- it just makes me feel, for lack of a better term, icky.

And now, off to continue working on a transcript for the deposition of what I can only describe as the world's most uncooperative witness. Enjoy the following testimony, in which the lawyer handed the witness a financial document:

LAWYER: I am handing you Plaintiff's Exhibit 7. Do you recognize it?


LAWYER: What do you recognize it to be?

WITNESS: A piece of paper.

Such brilliance goes on for nearly eight hours. Ah, the legal profession. Who said it wasn't entertaining?

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