I am so happy about my mile time! *laughs* I know, I already said that. Hey, I'm just excited. I love seeing that number get lower and lower. I was able to bump the treadmill up to 6 mph for a little while, but ran more at 5.8 mph.
My sister went to the gym with me last night. She hasn't been to the gym in a long while, since she is going to school. For some reason, she feels the need to push herself really hard when she is there, though she knows that killing herself one day isn't going to make 5 months of not exercising "all fixed". I shake my finger at her! Ok, just a little bit. I kept reassuring her that she needn't work quite so hard, and shouldn't be running at all right now. She doesn't listen to me.
I don't actually know how long I did cardio last night. I ran, and then started walking. I don't know how long I was walking for before Sis said that she was moving to the bike. So, I hit that stop button and moved to the bike too. I think that I pedaled for just over 1/2 hour before Sis said that she had a foot cramp and wanted to call it a night. So, I'm figuring that I'm somewhere between 45 minutes and just over an hour, I think. I kind of spaced out on the treadmill after running, so I could have been on there for 10 or 20 more minutes without even registering it.
Speaking of spacing out, I was thinking about that as I was running last night. I didn't do that while I was running, because I was trying to beat my old mile time. When I've run long-distance in the past, I used to find myself really taking a trip after a while. The worst was when I was in high school, and I would run the halls. It must have been something about those lights. My body would go on auto-pilot, my eyes would lose focus a bit, and I would just run. It was so weird, but felt so cleansing and good. I can't run for distance anymore, because of this bad knee of mine, but I kind of wish that I could. To push past the point of complete and utter exhaustion, and to come to a place where everything gets quiet and still even though I'm moving, it offers a strange sort of rush.
It's not hurting me so much to run. I mean that in a rather non-bouncy kind of way. *laughs* While I still have to wear my bra that squishes my b00bs into my spine, other parts of me don't bounce around with so much vigor. Yay for less squishiness! It makes me wish that I had a trampoline to jump on! *lol* Boing! Boing! Unfortunately, I'd really be hurt badly if I fell off of one. I'm more breakable now than I was a few years ago, something that I've learned through my forays into fitness. I try to improve my strength, and I have to be super-careful not to injure myself. Goodness, DH worried that I had breast cancer not long ago, because I had injured my chest wall, which caused terrible pain and swelling. It's a real bummer to be so breakable. Hopefully some of that will improve as I slowly improve my fitness. I want to be strong, not made of glass.
Here is something funny that I want to write about. My husband won't believe me that dudes at the gym don't pay me any mind. Aside from the fact that I'd expect busy exercising guys to be busy with their actual exercising, my DH is too sweet to accept that the majority of guys don't seem interested in squishy girls. Personally, I don't really care. I'm married, and I'd prefer not to be uncomfortable while working out in the man-gym anyway. When I told him that dudes don't look at me, he just didn't believe me. He doesn't realize that he is just a special treasure!
I'm not the only lady who exercises at the man-gym. Personally, I just shrug it off as delightful that there are fitter women there who can be a lightning rod for any staring dudes who haven't learned that that is a mite rude. When I mentioned that to DH, he accused me of calling myself ugly, though I wasn't. I just acknowledge that there are women who are more physically fit than myself (which many people use as a measure of beauty), and that there are also women who are truly far more beautiful than I. I have no need or desire to have anyone oogling me or raving about how beautiful I am, but here is where the problem is. Maybe DH is a little right. The reason why I don't like to hear comments about my looks is because when people say nice things to me, I don't believe them. I wonder what they want. I wonder why they are smoozing me with false compliments. Oh, that doesn't include my family though. I just assume that they say nice things because they would still say I am pretty if I looked like Nanny McPhee at the beginning of the movie. *laughs*
Maybe I don't find myself to be ugly. I think that is too strong a word. Generally, I tend to think of myself as ... unremarkable. I blend. Instead of a bright parot, I am more like a little sparrow that is indistinguishable from the dry foliage of fall. For as strange as it sounds, I actually like this. I enjoy not being seen. I enjoy the quietness of it all. The kids that I grew up with were always cruel to me, telling me in every fashion just how disgustingly awful they thought I was. They made me miserable nearly every day. Boys thought that I was invisible until I was 17, at which time I found a boy that I loved a great deal. Unfortunately, he didn't have so much love for me, and his eyes were always wondering and looking for the 'better' more beautiful girl who might want him. When I became pregnant for the first time, my father looked at me and told me that I would never be pretty again. End of story. I think he just wanted to cut me.
It wasn't until I met my husband that I began to feel a deep contentment, a certain feeling that I was loved by another human being no matter what I looked like. There is only one man on this earth that I really care to see me, and that is him. He nurtures me with his abundant love and acceptance with such a fullness that I have no desire to attract anyone else's attention. If there is any other man who does see me, I'm unaware of it. Now, other women, that is a completely different story. Gals can be such crazy creatures. They need a post all their own.
Well, this wonderfully unremarkable girl is ready for some new jeans. I've been holding on to my pants for as long as I can, but I'm going to have to make peace with the idea of letting some go. When jeans hang and drape more like a skirt, I'd say they are done. I can put my whole arm down the leg of my jeans to scratch an itch behind my knee. I think that I have a good test for determining the time of death for a pair of pants. If they have can be slipped off without unbuttoning them, they need to go.
It's an awkward place, being between sizes. I can wear smaller sizes in clothing, and yet they don't look quite right. The fit isn't as smooth as what I'd like, but my older clothes are shapeless and falling off. While I'm not overly concerned with how other people see me, I'd like for my husband to enjoy how I look in my clothes. I think that the only option left is to keep working on my health and fitness, and the smaller clothes will gradually look nicer and nicer as days go by.
Well, I guess that is enough babbling for now. I need to get in the kitchen and start cooking. My ready-made lunch plates are all gone, and there is some beautiful yellow squash that is just waiting to be roasted. I think that I may cook my chicken in some hot sauce this time around, for some kick! Yummy, yummy.