Don't Mince Words

In my continuing effort to live a healthy, unemployed lifestyle, I decided now would be a good time to try one of those eight-week, Runner’s World couch-to-marathon training programs. I started week two today and I think I’m going to flunk myself and repeat week one.

I knew this was going to be a harder week, so this morning I suited up appropriately: super-plus tampon, Spanx to give my thighs more zing, and a waist-cincher to support my back. I successfully managed to run two minutes with a one minute break until I hit 15 minutes and realized my heart rate had soared to an unbelievable 175 BPM. WTF. I reverted back to the week one lesson of 1run/2walk.

What doesn’t make sense to me is I can go like a maniac on an eliptical machine at the gym on my off days, but that foot pounding into the pavement seems to freak my body out. Come to think of it, I can have hot monkey sex longer than I can run.

Everyone I know who has taken up running late-life loves it. I’m going to get through this eight-week program even if it takes me… four months. But for now, the only runner’s high I’m going to get is from the beer I have afterwards.

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