This morning I decided to weigh myself for the first time since before the holidays. I actually weighed myself once while in the states, but I was riding the crimson wave at the time so the number didn’t count. Because I said so, that’s why.
The result? I gained six pounds in three weeks. The number on the scale was one I haven’t seen in nearly two years. Shit on a stick, people, this is not good.
The weight must go before I begin marathon training on February 1st. That gives me three weeks to eat more veggies and less junk and to get my butt moving again.
I tried to make progress today but was stifled by unforeseen circumstances and the madness-inducing treadmill.
I woke late, but still dragged my carcass to the gym, sans Aeolus because the slush-and-snow covered roads are still too treacherous for my wheels. I arrived to find the pool closed for the day (mother f#%$*&!), so I settled on getting 5K in on the dreaded treadmill. I should also point out that I picked today to break in a new pair of shoes and a new pair of insoles (green Superfeet).
Holy god, the treadmill is horrible! It’s just so mind-numbingly boring. My music did nothing to distract me from the mental anguish. How in the hell do you people put up with it?
I made it two miles before I couldn’t take it anymore. I’m consoling myself by saying that it’s good not to push it too far on the first day with new insoles. However, they were feeling great so I know it’s not a valid excuse. Bah!
The roads and sidewalks are still super crappy, so the treadmill is really my only option at the moment. Sheer desperation is going to force me to listen to language learning tracks or possibly an audio book--anything to distract me from the fact that I’m running nowhere....and not even fast.
So, on behalf of myself and anyone else having a really crappy post-holiday day, I say this:
F*CK YOU, MONDAY!
There, now I feel a little better.