Okay, so I didn't start smoking pot or anything. But still, I am embarrassed to talk about my situation. Because I can't seem to find a way to talk about it without sounding....oh....like one of those people. Who talk about themselves. In a somewhat braggerly fashion. I feel like we have an understanding, you and me. In my posts I poke fun at my husband and I tell you how destructive my kids are and you know to read between the lines. You get me. But this? I'm not so sure. (And trust me, I wouldn't even be admitting any of this to you if I didn't have some really good reasons. And those reasons are: all the ways that I can make fun of myself on this topic.) So here goes:
I started an Ironman Challenge at my gym last week. I am going it alone, because the actual challenge happened the first two weeks of October (in the midst of the "costuming season") and I decided that to begin on November 1 would be the perfect way to pay for the "I've just eaten my weight in Butterfingers and Kit Kat" crimes committed against my body. The idea is to complete an entire Ironman "race" over a period of two weeks. Swim 2.4 miles, run 26.2 miles and bike 112 hateful, grueling, ghastly miles. Since I already have a workout schedule that my mind and body are used to, I made the decision to pack everything in to my 5:30-7:30 am MWF workouts. Except to get in the 1/2 mile swims and the 3 mile runs and the 18 mile rides per workout I had to tack on another 30 minutes. That is 2 1/2 hours. It takes me 2 1/2 hours because I am not fast. No, I am slow. I am steady. And I am sweaty. Oh Heavens to Betsy, the quantities of sweat involved. So to give you the goods on the *best* things about this willful torturing of my body:
As mentioned, there is a lot of sweat involved. I have previously witnessed people on the bike who drip perspiration onto the floor. It is disgusting. I am now one of those people. I still find it disgusting. By the time I have been on the bike an hour I look like I jumped into a lake and then got dressed.
I have begun to confuse myself with Michael Phelps, specifically in the calories-consumed department. All this extra exercise has resulted in a greatly increased appetite and a greatly increased feeling of entitlement to those extra calories consumed. I do not quite eat the 12,000 calories of food a day that Michael does--but I think I'm downing at least the equivalent of your average woman pregnant with quintuplets.
Even though I am killing myself during these extended workouts, I have yet to lose a pound. (Yeah. I know. You would think the sweat alone would be worth a few.) On the contrary, I have gained 2 pounds in the past week. Could have something to do with the Michael Phelps thing. Oh, and save the whole "muscle weighs more than fat" speech, because my clothes all still fit the same.
Have I mentioned how much I rather loathe the stationary bike? Because I rather loathe it a lot. Also, I think all this biking may have permanently damaged some parts of myself that are mainly involved with sitting. My sitting may never be the same.
But on the plus side: I get to meet lots of new people at the track, like Jim. Jim's wife is going through "the change" and Jim once spent 4 months in Denmark, mainly in the pubs. Jim says he felt like a midget in Denmark, because all the men are tall. Jim is 5'5. Jim is super friendly.
So that's it. Sorry to have been keeping this from you. I just didn't know if you would understand. Maybe you don't. But I had to come clean, if only so I could reveal to you that my thighs are bulking up something horrible.
