Sunday, November 4, 2012

How Exercising Almost Killed Me

We made a huge cross-country move this summer, Alaska to Kansas, and as a result my fitness has suffered.  Not only did I pig out once we got to the lower 48 where they have REAL restaurants, but I also stopped exercising.  Mostly because we were stuck in the car all day long.  A little bit because I was too lazy to go running after sitting on my ass all day.  As a result, I gained a couple... few... several pounds and now all of my cute skinny clothes don't fit.  Not acceptable.

So in September I started working out again.  My grandma was out for a visit and she's pretty active, so at least 5 days a week I did workout videos with her and I kept it up after she left.  A month later and I hadn't lost a single fucking pound.  Lame.  So I tried doing Slimfast as well, but I ended up eating the meal bars on top of my regular food rather than instead of.  Apparently that's not how they work.  Then I had got sick, found out I was pregnant, and lost the baby in the course of about a week.  All diet and exercise went out the window.  I was woofing down cake like Marie Antoinette. 

So a week and a half ago I decided enough was enough.  I am entering the Age of Me.  Time to get hot.

I had the husband bring in the treadmill from the garage and set it up in the corner of the family room so that I could be close to the kids while they played.  I set up an electric fence around it to keep them from getting too close.  Just kidding, it's a baby gate.  With razor wire.  Not really. 

Then I downloaded "Zombies, Run!" onto my phone and Monday morning I started running.  I'm not a runner.  I'm barely a walker.  But when you have zombies chasing you, you fucking RUN.  I don't care who you are.  You know it's all pretend, but you can't help thinking that if there IS a zombie apocalypse, you're probably screwed.  Now is the time to train, people.  Number one rule is cardio.

Monday was pretty brutal.  Tuesday I thought, "I can do better!" and I did.  But it was rough.  Wednesday seemed easier and I managed to push myself harder.  Thursday I almost died.

You see, my treadmill has heart rate monitors built into the handles.  Normally I don't give a shit, but I was pouring sweat, could barely catch my breath and my heart was thudding in my ears.  So, out of curiousity, I put my hands on the bars and waited.  171.  I'm pretty sure I nearly died.  Now, I know the charts say the max HR for a 29 year old could be higher.  Could be.  But I'm pretty sure mine is lower and I'm pretty sure my heart almost exploded.

So now I face a conundrum: I can either stop working out and get eaten by zombies or keep working out and risk my heart exploding.  Logic tells me to go the first route, I'm more likely to have a heart attack than to be eaten by zombies.  But my heart tells me that when my neighbors turn into mindless flesh gobblers, I need to be able to outrun them.  My heart is proud.  It would rather explode on it's own terms than be eaten by those fuckers.

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