Tag Archives: c25k

It Ain’t All Sunshine and Roses

When I started this blog, I promised myself that I would always be completely honest here. There’s no point in lying to people–if you can’t be truthful with someone, then the relationship probably isn’t worth maintaining. And besides, this is my sandbox. Come play or not as you see fit, but when you’re here, you get Pure Fresh-Squeezed Truth, never from concentrate, with no added sugar or artificial flavorings.

 

So here’s today’s truth: I went out for my jogwalk this morning, and it was not pretty.

 

The sun is shining and the sky is blue. It’s a lovely autumn day here in Kansas. The leaves have turned and/or fallen, the non-migratory birds are gossiping to each other, there’s a gentle breeze, and our dogs keep treeing adorably fuzzy squirrels. Plus it’s a Monday, which is a BW Zombiepocalypse Training Day, so I strapped on my shoes (which somehow manage to make my size-11 feet look dainty), pulled on my black exercise pants and matching fuzzy vest, put on my purple long-sleeve tee (for a pop of color, y’know. Fashion is important when getting sweaty in public), strapped myself into my assorted braces and support wraps (I like to think that passersby think that I am perhaps some sort of cyborg, what with all the lumps and bumps around my knees and ankles), and headed out into the day.

 

I got about two blocks when I realized that I was breathing a little heavily and was already starting to sweat.

 

So I checked my phone (aka, the Official BW Timekeeping Device), discovered I was walking at a slightly faster pace than usual, congratulated myself, and dropped back half a step so I wouldn’t fizzle out before I even made it to the corner where I start my jogging.

 

Got to the corner, took off jogging toward the little green bridge, and stopped about 20 paces shy of the bridge because both of my legs had drafted clever and well-worded notes of protest and were passing around a petition to secede. They had a pretty strong majority, so I gracefully acknowledged their victory and slowed to a walk. It’s ok, I reasoned; I usually walk for a while after the little green bridge anyway, and then jog again just before I get to the little red bridge.

 

Approached the little red bridge, started jogging again, and discovered that my legs had been busy organizing sister protests in my ankles and feet while I wasn’t paying attention. We made it across that bridge (between approach and crossing, I reckon I jogged for about a minute total–this counts as triumph on my planet) and a few additional steps down the sidewalk when I suddenly found myself confronting an angry mob of lower extremities who were not only threatening to secede but to burn the BW Nation to the ground on their way out. So we walked again.

 

Made it to the turnaround point in the allotted 10 minutes (for a second there it looked like I’d be able to make it past the current turnaround point–I just move the point a little farther down the road whenever I’m able–but as it turned out, that’s just because I had apparently lost my ability to read a digital clock), reversed direction, and headed back…and the protesting hordes in my legs and feet chanted slogans and waved hateful signs at me the entire time. Every step just made them more insistent; trying to focus on my surroundings, the music coming from my headset, mental drafts of what I’d write today, anything at all just made them louder. Needless to say, there was no jogging on the return trip, and I usually try to jog for at least one or two bursts on the way home. *sigh*

 

So I hobbled my tragic self home, unstrapped/unzipped/untied, threw on my housedress, took some ibuprofen, and am now sitting very still and typing away while the local peacekeeping force attempts to convince the protestors in my legs that no, we will not be using any sort of force to get you all to leave, but we assure you that your message has been received loud and clear and is being taken under advisement even as we speak, so perhaps you’d like to mosey on along home now and quit pestering the nice people in BW’s brain.

 

Which brings us to today’s truth: it ain’t all sunshine and roses around here, and that’s ok.

 

There are going to be days, like today, when the Daily Triumph is somewhat less triumphant than I might have hoped. There will be days when the Daily Triumph just doesn’t happen at all. And really, there are going to be days when I don’t even try for a Daily Triumph, and opt instead to sit around and watch reruns of America’s Next Top Model while shoveling ice cream into my gaping maw (“haha, little models! I can eat ice cream and youuuu caaaaan’t!”).

 

But it’s the effort that counts. It’s having the courage to get up again on Wednesday and give it another go. It’s allowing myself the option of meeting with more success somewhere down the road.

 

And if nothing else, it’s the joy of knowing that I really do look awfully cute in my jaunty workout outfit. I’ll try to convince hubby to snap a picture sometime. Seriously. So adorable.

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Filed under Don't Make Me Come Down There, General Musings and Meanderings, Play Nicely

It Is Time

Hello, you beautiful creature(s)!

 

Welcome to Mama Buffalo’s Trail of Muddy Footprints. Grab a snack or a beverage, get comfy, and let’s have storytime, shall we?

 

First, I should probably note that technically my “it is time” moment happened about three weeks ago. But I wasn’t blogging then, so perhaps we can all just pretend that my inner light bulb has just gone off and agree that in this sort of story, the details don’t matter nearly as much as the narrative itself. *grin*

 

Here’s the story: Once upon a time, there was a girl who bloomed a little sooner than her classmates. Elementary school kids, lacking a strong comprehension of the concept of “early physical maturation”, defaulted to using the word “fat”. And since they were far more vocal than she was–and since she did have a certain fondness for packaged snack cakes and second helpings of chicken nuggets–the label stuck, and became gradually more appropriate over time. And more appropriate. And even more appropriate.

 

As she grew up, she discovered that she was a boredom eater. She discovered that she was a depression eater. And after her first fiance ran off with the 20-year-old voice major, she discovered that she had a lot of spare time and a lot of spare sadness and suddenly found herself with a lot of cartons of ice cream lying around the place. And when the next Major Relationship happened, she spent a lot of time hearing that the only reason he loved her was because of her bust size, which, unsurprisingly, decreased the first time she started losing any weight. But he was attractive and she felt undesirable, so when he called her on it and threatened to leave her for it, she put the weight back on and stuck around. For five years.

 

But all of that is in the past. Now the girl is happily married to a ludicrously supportive man, one who supports her in her every endeavor and who encourages her to pursue her goals.

 

So it’s time for the girl to get on board too.

 

…I started jogging about 3 weeks ago, doing an oh-so-modified version of the Couch-to-5k program (http://www.c25k.com/) because a friend of mine had recommended it and I figured it couldn’t possibly get me farther from my fitness and healthy lifestyle goals. At nearly 350 pounds, I know I’ve got a way to go before I even really make it to full participation in the Week 1 routine (60 seconds running, 90 seconds walking, lather, rinse, repeat). And I’ve got issues with my joints–not surprising, given my weight–which sometimes make it difficult to talk myself into going out the door at all.

 

But I’m going. I’m up, I’m moving, and I’ve been at it for a little while now. And so I figured it was high time I start a blog to share this story with people; I reckon that even if only one person reads it and finds even a shred of inspiration in it, then my time on this planet has served a purpose.

 

So off we go. Who wants to come with?

–Mama Buffalo

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Filed under General Musings and Meanderings, Play Nicely