Healthy Food Chart

The hardest thing about starting an exercise program is physically starting it, although not giving up too soon comes in close second.

I used to play lots of sports (years ago) and in my mind I hadn’t really lost that much of my physical ability – alright I admit, I really wasn’t that honest with myself; my physical ability and stamina had gone WAY downhill as I gained weight.

Part of my commute is a mile long walk across Boston, which if I left late would leave me huffing and puffing when I did make it to my train in time. However, forcing myself to walk that route everyday rather than hoping on the T or one of the buses meant I was getting upwards of 40 minutes of exercise everyday! Not bad for someone who sits on their but all day. As my last minute dashes across town got easier and easier (well, easy may not be the best adjective it became not as painful) I thought to myself, I should start jogging……

Easier said than done. The first day I made the mistake of telling my very athletic and competitive husband that I was going for a run. After he finished chuckling (did I mention he’s really supportive?!) he offered to give me his stop watch, which I didn’t take along with me…. Outside I went, started with a couple stretches, and took off down our street. I still felt good at the end of our street (probably 200 feet if that) so I took a left and headed down the block. Well, its a half block really so another 400 feet and I was still doing alright. I paused to let a car pass and across the intersection I went and that’s where it all went down hill. No not ground, the street is about as flat as can be, me downhill and far faster than I really cared to admit. The next intersection was just a residential block away and I don’t think I even made it at anything remotely close to resembling running.

The good news was, I was sucking wind so bad and moving so slowly it was eating up time on the clock of the stopwatch I felt for sure my husband had started. I stopped to try to catch my breath, took another left and walked the whole next block (e-x-t-r-e-m-e-l-y ssss-llll-oooo-wwww-llll-yyyy). Completely ashamed at my awful performance, I resolved to whip myself back into shape one way or another – I was just way too pitiful for someone who used to claim to be athletic.

At the end of the next block I turned left again, and kicked the pace back up again. I had incentive now, and a bit of a downhill slope in my favor. I made it past the first intersection and almost to my street before I gave into my gasping lungs and slowed back to a walk again. At my street corner I walked in slow circles until I felt better (and ate up even more time on the clock) before taking my last left turn and finally mustering up what I considered a near sprint back to my house.

Thankfully there was a bit of a breeze as I “ran” past the front windows of my house, so my hair was blowing out behind me like I really was going fast which is the image my husband saw.

As I slowly climbed the stairs up into my housing (every muscle is sore, next time I try this I need to make sure there are no witnesses) my husband met me at the door not with the awful stop watch but with a glass of cold water and a hug to tell me how proud of me he was.

That was running day number one, it took me a few days to recover from it but a few days later I was back out there (at night so no one would see me) again. It was certainly a rough beginning but as I slowly got better, I would increase my distance little by little. I didn’t care if I walked part of it, the object was to simply move my body and hopefully get in better shape.

It’s been over three years from that dreadful first run, and I’m training for my own biggest loser event now – a half marathon this fall. Can’t wait to see my husbands stop watch at the finish line, no matter what the time on it is I am going to be happy with it since I know how far I’ve come.