Soon, under such a
mild winter, running shorter distances failed to satisfy, and I
became increasingly focused on seeing to what further limits of
distance I could push myself. I started undertaking long-runs once
every week or two, running around the city in the middle of the night
when I wasn’t working. I found moments of peacefulness running the
near-deserted streets of Chicago at 3AM, unworried about traffic or
pedestrians in my way, and hilarity watching drunks stumbling out of
bars could not believe anyone could be exercising so late. By early
February, I could run 8 miles, albeit with serious difficulty and
intense pain afterward. When I told Adam of the achievement, he
demanded I sign up for a half marathon. Largely due to his constant
pestering, I registered for the Chicago Rock and Roll Half Marathon,
scheduled for July 22nd. Not ten minutes after submitting
payment, I realized that July in Chicago could be terrifically hot –
in the 100s. I had only run in the winter, so the decision might
prove boneheaded, but at least I had about five months to prepare. On
the advice of Jamie, Mary, and others, I found a Hal Higdon plan and
resolved to follow it somewhat faithfully, though the disparity in
timing presented a problem: the program would be completed in ten
weeks... I had five months to go.
It got warmer, and
Chicago’s racing season began – though I took pleasure in
reminding every runner I knew that for the hardcore, it had never
ended. I ran the Shamrock Shuffle, Chicago’s second-largest race,
in March. The course wound through downtown for 8 kilometers,
crossing the Chicago River twice, and past some of the city’s most
gorgeous architecture. In retrospect, merely walking it and taking
pictures would have been incredible, but performing well outweighed
that kind of experience. I saw Adam beforehand, but with him being a
faster runner, we went our own ways. Mary had come into town for the
race though, and we ran together. I went along at her pace, not a
great deal off my own, until the final half-mile, when, to see how
quickly I could boogie, and with her permission, I bolted to the
finish. I ended with a time of 48:20, only a marginal improvement
from the Rudolph Ramble, but accompanying Mary had felt more
important, and it was nice to not have to only run into her at the
end. My running habits continued much the same as late-winters, with
increasing distance, though attempting to deal with warmer
temperatures did prove a minor challenge.
For most of winter,
my weight had plateaued somewhere between 215 to 205 pounds. I didn’t
think too much about it. Running took priority. So did working out at
the gym, as for some unknown reason I wanted to pack on muscle while
losing weight – before I hit my loss goals. I didn’t correlate
how my weight could impede my running performance.
I started thinking
about weight loss against more intensely in the spring, and I started
losing again. I did it how I always had, as my view of weight loss at
that time approximated eating less when I wanted to lose, and beating
the living crap out of my body as often as I could manage. The
problem was that during in those periods of loss, I usually felt
somewhere between somewhat and wholeheartedly awful. The period of
action would be inevitably followed by a major plateau, when I’d do
just enough not to put on the poundage, but would give up on losing
for some time.
In the late spring,
however, I shocked myself by continuing to make progress in weight
loss – while not torturing myself, and not focusing as much on
killing myself at the gym. Though still challenged, I maintained a
happier lifestyle, while still losing weight. For the first time,
continued loss felt sustainable. I felt better about the steps I was
taking more than I ever had. I believe that more than anything,
reading a specific book, and implementing its recommendations,
instigated it.
Though hard to
admit, I had been lazy for the first year of my weight-loss progress.
I had chosen to focus on exercise and running, which I could feel
proud of. Simultaneously, I had completely slacked off from focusing
on diet. Because I viewed diet as a simple calculation of calorie
intake and output – I HATED math, and refused to figure out portion
sizes and calorie contents – taking significant action to improve
the diet had, until this point, felt impossible. More importantly, I
had been ignorant of the complexities behind improving a diet. I ate
too much of the wrong foods at the wrong times and had no clue how to
recognize my mistakes.
No comments:
Post a Comment