If I'm Running Someone Is Chasing Me With a Cattle Prod

I ran a half mile tonight!!

Now, before you judge too harshly, give me a sec to backpedal a bit.

Hi. My name's Shannon. I am 5'3" (on a good day) and I am 192 pounds (my boobs are between a D and a DD, in case you were curious). Yep. I'm fat. Quite, actually. No, I'm not particularly proud of that fact. Unfortunately, that hasn't made much of a difference so far. Time for a new approach.

A few months ago, my friend, Kathleen, dragged me and another friend, Melanie, to zumba. I'd never been before. I'd heard about it and had slowly gotten curious as I learned more. That didn't translate overly well to  getting myself out there to try it though. So Kathleen dragged us. And it was fun. But oh, goodness, it was difficult. I hadn't worked that hard (physically any way) in... well, a long time.

I went back. And have been continued to go once a week since. (I'd consider going more but I can't afford it and I really don't want to burn myself out.)

But, for those of you keeping track, that is exactly one day a week that I was exercising. And so one night, bored and restless and not nearly tired enough to go to bed, though I'm sure it was plenty late, I decided to go for a run. I got on google maps and figured out that if I ran down the street in front of my house for a bit, went a block down and came back (making a giant rectangle) it was 1.1 miles. Perfect! I thought. I started running and almost immediately my ankles and my shins started to hurt. A lot. But running and walking (okay, maybe mostly walking) I made the whole mile. A bit frustrated but surprisingly un-discouraged, I thought that maybe I would do it again another night.

And then LeakyCon 2013 announced that they were going to have a 5k run/walk thing at their Portland section, which is the one I'm going to. For some reason, I decided I really really wanted to participate. Not run the whole thing, just part of it. I can already walk 5k, I just want to be able to run the first mile or so, was the thought process.

I say I decided I wanted to participate "for some reason" because I actually hate running. I like dancing and swimming and biking and ice skating. Just plain running though? No, thank you. I'll do it occasionally, when I feel like it, but it's not even close to my first choice for exercising. And now I'd decided I wanted to be in a race? Ha ha ha... crap.

Griff, my boyfriend, whose parents are marathoners, said I should run every other day if I really wanted to make progress. I can honestly say that hasn't happened. But zumba once a week has helped. And I am running at least twice a week. Sometimes Griff and I are even making it to Scottish dancing on Mondays (I only get to go for 45 minutes though because of work. :c).

And now, finally, I have concrete proof of progress! Yay! *dances*

You know what's funny though? I haven't lost a single pound and I'm slowly turning into one of those people. You know, the ones who have running shirts, shorts, shoes, bras and playlists? Yep. I bought extra exercise shorts, a stretchy tank top thing (I still run in a large t-shirts a lot though), and replaced my tennis shoes just so I could exercise more than once a week, but especially so I could run without having to do laundry after zumba. Today I caved and finally made a running playlist for my iPod (I had been refusing to, but finding songs I can run to with shuffle is only getting harder and so...). I'm even hunting for a running bra (big boobs suck). It's weird. I still don't like running. I keep doing it though. I suspect it's pure stubbornness.

That's my leg! I used to have muscles! See! Proof!

We might end up walking from
Douglas to Peel or back. It's
about 10 miles.

No matter how many times I tell myself that I just want to be strong-- which is true, I do. I used to be able to go to a céili and dance for almost three hours straight without being sore afterwards. I can't do that anymore. And it hurts. Not just physically either. I love céilis. Being unable to dance the entire time at the few I do get to go to anymore (they're all on the wrong side of the mountains from where I currently live so I get to go to one every several months) is heartbreaking. I want to be able to dance the whole time again. I want to be able to walk across the Isle of Man when Griff and I go next year, just in case. But no matter how many times I tell myself that's why I'm doing this, it's not the only reason. 

There's also the sneaking and exceedingly deeply rooted hatred of what I see in the mirror every day. I can honestly say that I don't want to look like a model (I'm too short any way). I don't even want to be thin per se. I just... want to look different. Better. More "worthwhile." It is so embarassing and so sad (yes, even I know it's sad) to admit it. But it's true. Ironically (or maybe not so ironically. There are in fact consequences for not adjusting eating habits :P) weight loss or even a change in what I see in the mirror is what I haven't seen in the last two months that I've been consistently exercising. 

I mean, today I was trying on shorts and I fit into a 14 instead of a 16 for the first time in like a year, but when I stepped on the scale it still said 192. (I suspect the shorts just run large. The small self esteem boost is still appreciated.) I'd like to say that it doesn't bother me and/or that I'm slowly learning to love myself no matter what. I'd be lying if I did. 

I am however thrilled about managing to run a half mile and for today and tonight I can honestly say, that's enough. Now to celebrate by... going to bed. It's super late.