Yesterday, after a particularly brutal
I thought to soon.
C. pointed at a treadmill and I smirked to myself, thinking, "Oh, easy-peasy! I do the elliptical all the time. The treadmill is child's play."
Riiiiiight.
C. cranked up the incline to level 15, the highest it can go, and asked me how fast I walk. I told her about three miles per hour is doable. So off we went. This wasn't so bad, it was like walking up a hill--no problem.
I did that for two minutes, then C. said, "Okay, now you're going to run."
Run?
"I don't run."
She just laughed and said, "Remember when you said that people are always telling you they can't sing and you tell them, 'Sure you can--you just haven't learned HOW.' Well, you can run--you just haven't learned how."
So my soft-spoken, nice trainer turned Sadist on me and cranked up the speed to 4 miles per hour (she did put the incline back down to 1, though). And she made me run for two minutes.
Two minutes doesn't sound like a lot, but when you are, well, me, it's torture. My calves were screaming, my knees were threatening all kinds of nastiness, and my lungs were gasping for air.
"Don't forget to breathe--in through the nose, out through the mouth," came C's soft voice from where she stood next to me. I focused on my breathing and tried not to stare at the clock. Every time I watched, it slowed down, I swear.
When the two minutes were up, she slowed me back down to 3 miles per hour and let me catch my breath. Then we repeated it. The whole experience was ten minutes.
She has prescribed this as cardio for me to do on my own, so today, I gamely dragged myself to the Rocklin gym (nearest to Mom and Dad's house) and aimed for 20 minutes of walking/running. I made it to 10 before figuring this is something I should ease myself into slowly.
I can't quite envision myself being a runner, and part of me fears that as soon as my paid sessions are up, I'll give up trying alltogether and stick to the comfortable, reliable elliptical (and swimming).
My knees have already voted for this option.
3 comments:
What I usually do on the treadmill is walk at three miles per hour for five, crank it up to four miles per hour, run for another five. Pause. Stretch. Then I usually do another ten at four mph, five at five mph and however long it takes me to have completed another two rounds at six mph.
Then again, I am a masochist. Give it a few more shots; running isn't as much fun in the beginning, but I always feel very satisfied when I'm done. Ask C if you should get a knee brace just in case you find your knees hurting because that's what happens to us when we haven't run in a long time.
"I don't run."
Ha. Me, either. Fuck that noise. I don't think I could run a city block without wheezing and collapsing.
I would have told your trainer "not on her nelly" would I get on a treadmill.
Last time I tried running on the treadmill I was running fairly fast when my arms (from flailing too much to keep me going) whacked the emergency stop button and it lurched to a stop shooting me off backwards into an exercise bike.
*shakes head in shame* Never again.
However, before then, it was quite satisfying. Just avoid the emergency stop button :P
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