No Pain, No Gain

Last week, on a whim, a friend of mine and I signed up to participate in a half-marathon at the end of October, in San Francisco.

Since then, I have successfully avoided beginning any sort of fitness regime, and have also successfully eaten too much several days running.

This is going to be interesting.

I can dimly remember my early twenties, when I went through a period of being almost addicted to exercise. Perhaps it had something to do with the free membership at the YMCA, which is where I worked at the time, as a day camp counselor. Anyway, I worked out five days a week, like clockwork: an hour of cardio every day and an hour of weights added on to that every other day. I didn't have a six-pack or anything, but I believe I could boast a very respectable four-pack, and that wasn't too bad.

(I think I still have the four-pack, actually, it's just a little harder to find these days.)

One time I overdid it: in fitness terms, I "maxed out." (Is that still a fitness term? I don't know.) Anyway, I was focusing on the arm muscles that day, and I worked out so hard, that when I went home I could barely eat my dinner, because I was having trouble lifting the spoon to my mouth. My arms were literally shaking, and they hurt. It was not "the good kind of burn," either. It was awful.

And of course the next day we were taking the YMCA kids to an overnight camping experience (right behind a cemetery no less, but that's another story), which meant that we had to load up all their luggage on the bus. I think I almost cried. I mean, the night before I could barely eat soup because the spoon felt too heavy, and now they were asking me to THROW heavy SUITCASES into a bus?? The assistant director for the camp (who was also my occasional workout partner) thought my plight was hilarious, and kept poking me in the triceps, which of course is where most of my pain was concentrated. I would have hit him, but my arms wouldn't move.

The final, crowning insult of that entire experience happened when we got to the campground, and the first activity slated for my group was a hike in the hills. I was still feeling utterly miserable, and was not thrilled that I had to do yet more physical activity. So in my despairing mood, I didn't see the rope stretched across the beginning of the trailhead. I tripped over it and fell, cutting my chin open on a rock. Of course, the only bandages anyone had available were kid-friendly bandages, meaning they had funny little cartoon characters all over them. In other words, they were not remotely inconspicuous. So for the rest of the day I got to hear jokes like, "What happened? Did you cut yourself shaving?" Ha ha.

So anyway, it's been a long time since I've been truly excited about getting in shape, but maybe this half-marathon will kick things back into gear. I can hope, I guess. Of course, the fact that I woke up late and then spent the morning writing this post rather than going for the walk around the Rose Bowl that I had originally planned does not bode well for my athletic future. (Neither does my propensity for chocolate.)