Beauty on the Backroads

Stories of grace for life's unexpected turns

weight loss

Put down the ice cream and no one gets hurt

Week 7, Day 3. We are now just two weeks from the end of the Couch to 5K plan, a little more than two weeks from our 5K. Where has the time gone? And how is it possible that we’ve now run 2.5 miles three times in the last week and have lived to tell about it?

When we started this journey, I wasn’t sure where it would take us. I couldn’t envision being at this point, running more than 2 miles, being able to do it AND enjoying it. I couldn’t imagine it because the steps to get here have been many, gradual and at times, difficult. Running 2.5 miles still isn’t easy, but it’s not daunting like it used to be. Today we ran the same route as last Thursday, when we ran 2.25 miles. Today’s time: a shade over 31 minutes, down 2 minutes from last week’s run on this route. It was rainy and cold. I had a pain in my shin, I think from swimming with the kids yesterday, but it didn’t affect my running.

I’m noticing that I find a burst of energy when I can see the finish point. Sometimes I start the route slow so I know I’ll be able to finish strong and well.

Perhaps if I adopted the same attitude toward life’s trials, I would not find them as overwhelming either. Maybe I won’t be able to see the end, but if I could live with the attitude that an end is coming, that whatever it is I’m facing won’t go on forever, then maybe I could keep working hard to finish well.

I’ll weigh in again on Saturday, but I’m not expecting much improvement. It’s been an off week, emotionally and eating-wise. We’ve had two meals out already this week (parents in town … date night) and will have another tomorrow after seeing the Statue of Liberty, plus there’s a lot of chocolate in the house thanks to Halloween.

My husband is still rationing the ice cream, though. He scoops. I give him the, “Is that all?” look and he reminds me that our goals are more important than a dish of ice cream.

Sigh. He’s right. And I know it. Self-control is still a discipline I’m learning.

It’s just a number, right?

Week 7, Day 1. 2.5 miles on the docket today, but it’s also Saturday, which means weigh-in day. I was extremely hopeful because my jeans were fitting well this week and someone asked me if I’d been losing weight. Until this week, my husband was seeing the benefits, but I wasn’t.

So, I excitedly hopped on the scale before our run this morning and saw … I’d gained half a pound? After gaining the past two weeks also? I was so depressed I didn’t even want to run.

What’s the point? I thought. I’m running three times a week and gaining weight, so why bother.

I evaluated my eating habits from the week and acknowledged that maybe I hadn’t done great this week, but certainly it couldn’t have been bad enough to counteract three days of running, could it?

My husband, in an effort to make me feel better, put himself on the scale only to discover he’d lost more weight. Thanks, honey. I feel loads better.

My mood didn’t improve when I couldn’t find my ear gear and dropped a stroller on my toe while looking for it.

As with most of our running days, though, it didn’t take long to get over it. Phil picked a new route today, and it took us across a one-lane bridge and past a wooded area near what looked like an old mill. It was lovely.

Early in the run, I felt like I was on autopilot. Between mile 1 and 2, I felt like I was dragging a little. Around the 2 mile mark, I picked up the pace, convincing my feet that yes, we were still running and walking was not an option.

With a few blocks to go, I had to take over pushing the stroller for Phil because his calf tightened up. We actually shared the burden for the last few blocks, and when we hit our stopping point, I was sure I was going to throw up. Nevermind that I didn’t have anything in my stomach.

We normally high-five after a run, but both of us were recovering, so we forgot. Our time today was just a shade over 33 minutes.

Years ago, I used to help my mom at the end of the Reagan 5K run. We’d snip electronic tags off people or take their numbers or something. I’d see people gasping for breath, puking and dripping with sweat, and I’d wonder, why in the world do they do it? Why put yourself through it?

I felt like those people a little today. I’m not sure I have the answers, but I know that the yucky feelings pass quickly and eventually I feel really good about what we’ve done.

Weight loss or no weight loss, maybe that’s where I need to focus. We’re still doing a good thing, even if the scale wants to tell me a different story.