I've been doing the C25K for about five weeks now. I'm pretty proud of myself, sticking with it this long. I have kind of a short attention span with exercise. And I really, really, REALLY hate to run.
But I know running is the quickest, cheapest way to get in shape. So there it is. I'm trying to be practical.
The area around my home is hilly hell. I do my best to plot out as flat a course as possible, because, while I'm up for a challenge, I'm not certifiable. Just yet, at least. We live at the top of the hill, so my normal plan of attack is to do my warm up by getting down the hill, I do my run at starting at the base, and I do track backs all the way up. Usually I hit the uphill part on the walking part of my intervals, so that's okay. I have had a few runs where I accidentally timed it out wrong and ended up running up most of the hills. Then I was unable to walk/stand/exist without groaning in pain for three days.
I'll try to avoid that in the future.
All the while, I still despise running, but I've been trying to turn it around and make it my time to focus, think, plan.
Lately, I've been looking at other houses in the neighborhood, trying to come up with some way to expand our living space that requires minimal wall demolition. Most of the houses around here are the same vintage, and have similar floor plans, but a few have added on, so they're good reference for what works, and what doesn't.
I get a little swept away in the possibilities sometimes. And then I don't pay close enough attention to my feet.
Which for me, is not good.
In fact, it's very bad.
Which is why, when I hit a pothole and loose gravel the other day, I wasn't able to correct myself. For a split second, I thought I could, but no. OHNO.
I went down like a ton of bricks, rolling my ankle and landing hard on my knees and the heels of my hands. Sitting there for a few minutes, doing the sharp intake of air hiss that is supposed to help you refrain from screaming curses, I assessed the damage.
Knees were a little skinned, but not too terrible. For some reason I had changed from shorts to pants right before leaving home.
My hands, on the other hand (HA), were not so lucky.
This is four days later. Gross. At the actual time of the fall, they were bloody hamburger, with little pieces of gravel lodged in the gouges. I had to perform minor surgery on myself to clean up. Puke.
I never knew how much I actually used the heels of my hands, but this injury has brought swift and painful attention to the fact that I do, in fact, need them. Not to mention how bloody achy my wrists have been from bearing the brunt of my entire upper body weight.
Generally speaking, I would normally use this as an excuse to stop running. FAR TOO DANGEROUS! But I'm pushing forward.
And it was so sweet the other day, when I went out for my first run post fall. My thoughtful husband called out, as he was leaving for work:
B: "Are you going to Toys r' Us today?"
ME: "Um, no. Why - do you need something?"
B: "For your helmet and pads."
Though, honestly, not a bad idea.