So not in shape

I’m a little nervous to go back; it’s my first time since probably mid-august. But at the same time it’s something I feel I have to do – I want to do.

My car heats up slowly as I drive myself to a new one, one I’ve never experimented with before. It’s possibly the coldest days since I’ve been home – maybe six degrees, and it’s only getting colder. But the fact that my the joints in my hands tighten up around the steering wheel and by breath looks like cumulous clouds does not stop me. My desire is too great. I wonder, has anything changed? Will it be painful? Have I been away so long that I won’t be able to do it without making a fool of myself in front of a room of more seasoned participants?

My heart speeds up a little as I drive. Yes, I’m nervous. Or more accurately, I’m anxious and also excited. The mystery makes me that way. How will it be?

After a twenty minute drive, my car has just about fully heated and I pull in to the parking lot. In the reception area, I’m greeted by a friendly man in back of the counter. Perhaps too friendly. He asks me to fill out a little paper work. “You’re all set!” he says after, and directs me a small white room full of benches and storage space. There are other women, mostly older, getting ready or on their way out.

I leave the small white room and head to another larger one full of various machines and gadgets made from levers and pulleys, engines and electricity. Silently, I bypass a few and head to my personal preference. The red lights beckon me to enter some data then…

begin workout. “All right!” I think, “I’m doing it. I’m actually getting some excersize!.”

Back before I left for India, I was at the top of my running game. For a good portion of the summer I spent in Syracuse, running was like crack. I’d do it five or six times a week. I’d wake up early in the morning with a jump, eager to experience the new warm air, the rising sun, the early calmness of things. Or in the evening to let off some energy bottled all day at my desk at work. Or late at night, when the darkness completely changed the world, making it both eerie and exciting. Or even in the rain. That’s what I really fell in love with – the way running connects me to my senses and my thoughts (doesn’t so much happen this way on a tread mill). Jogging through the city, I made it a point to notice something new every time

Then there was the challenge, the feelings of seeing how far I could push myself comfortably. Some days I’d run miles and by the end, feel like I could double that distance. On others, every step was like witnessing a kitten get drowned. At my best, I was up to ten miles – a distance that a couple years ago, I never thought I’d hit.

Now, at the gym for the first time in months, I’m not exactly winning any Ms. Olympia contests. I keep a steady pace for about fifteen minutes. After that, my heart’s racing so I slow it to a fast walk for five, another run for ten and then one last cool-down power walk. “God, I’m out of shape,” is my first thought. Yes, I walked the shit out of India, but ever did I make my heart race? I think not.

Then I try to convince myself think, “It’s partly the treadmill.” This may be a half-truth. Treadmills are boring and I can’t relax on them because I am a compulsive clock-checker, which makes me even more anxious. I start thinking about the time, rather than being able to relax my mind, look around, use the stride to foster some sort of rhythmic meditation. Basically, treadmills don’t hold a candle to the great outdoors, the open road.

So the first day back is rough, but not unbearable. At least I’ve got the ball rolling. On day two, things get even easier. I run twenty minutes straight, walk then run another ten and walk some more.. By days three and four, I’m running a half hour, walking, and then running another ten on a faster speed before cooling down. It’s amazing how easily the human body can adapt sometimes. And how much it responds to the re

On the third day, I trade in my usually choice of a tank top and decide to wear one of my sister’s big U.S. Marines T-shirts; a good call. On this day, there seems to be a plethora of really attractive guys around. One, who’s running on the treadmill in front of me, also wears a Marines shirt. It’s funny, but his presence makes me feel like running further, longer. Also, sometimes I think, “Damn, if my sister can be a Marine, I can handle this little distance. I can keep running.” I don’t want to give up while wearing the shirt.

And a t risk of sounding completely dorky, when I’m running with my sister’s Marine clothes on, I begin to feel a just little like a Marine (probably more like a glamorized rendition of what it feels like to be one). I make up scenarios sometimes, like I’m running to find people who need saving or I’m going after the enemy. Or things like, if I slow down, that makes the whole team (the treadmillers around me) have to slow down too. It works too; it makes my mind more centered and equipped. Stupid I know, but hey, I’m comfortable with that (I’m sure if my sister’s reading this she’s like, “F*ck! That’s nothing like being a Marine. She has no F*cking idea. She’s so stupid! F*ck!”).

The other pluses of getting my out-of-shape ass back to the gym? Well, with the four TV channel selections, I’ve managed to catch up a little on my New Hampshire Primaries info, and get to know the candidates. When I was in India, American politics basically didn’t exist in my life, so I had a lot of catching up to do. I’m also now becoming totally schooled in how to pucker, pout and suck it in front of a camera thank to a million-day long marathon of “America’s Next Top Model” on VH1 (Oh don’t tell me you didn’t stop at the channel a few times while TV surfing this past week. Who can resist a bunch of half-dressed, wannabe supermodels ready to rip each other’s heads off and eat them for dinner? I mean, come on! If that’s not the height of American Entertainment, what is?) I’ve also been able to review my Ipod library, which I’ve concluded needs some serious updating. Not to mention, getting off my lazy butt has given me a lot more energy.

Since my one-week pass is now run out, I probably won’t be running or hitting a gym until I get back to Syracuse. I got to abot four miles, which is no comparison to the ten I ran up and down hills last summer. That’s okay, though. I'm happy. When I get back, I’ll be in the mindset to rejoin my SU dance troupe. I’ll be taking yoga, too, so it won’t just be the boring treadmill routine all the time. And when the weather gets more spring-like, I’ll be pumped to go outside.

They say once an addict, always an addict. Well, I’ve seen the type before, and I’m not it. I’m not an addict at all, just a healthy moderate user (and no, I’m not in denial). No chance I’ll be downing steroids and protein shakes, or running 100Ks (or even marathons, for that matter) any time soon. No, this isn’t a relapse and running surely does not own me. I don’t think my addictive personality is really in play here. But if you ever see me skipping work or class, passing off social events, using the road as a form of escapism or avoidance, you have my permission to intervene and check me in to Runner’s Anonymous.