The outside was a mess of ice, melting snow, slush, and rain on Friday, and after 15 miles of snowshoeing already completed, I was a mess of aching knees, stiff calves, sore hip flexors, and an arthritic mind. So with that, I took Friday off to bask in the glow of the dank sky and catch up on some long overdue house shit.
Later in the day, as I watched Spurs blow it against City in the FA Crap, I made a ghetto bolognese sauce followed by a lasagna for Wifey and me that evening.
All of that is fine except for the sheer quantity of lasagna I ate; the piece missing in the photo above was Wifey’s piece. I ate 75% of what remained.
I woke up Saturday morning with a carb-fueled hangover and the taste of fat shame and cheese in my mouth.
I knew I needed to do something active or risk going full-Jack Torrance with a gut, but the outside remained a mess of half-melted deep snow, and knowing what the trails would be like, I unapologetically declined.
I said I wouldn’t do it, but I did. I got on the treadmill in the Not So Stankment for the first time in roughly 18 months or more. I truthfully didn’t even know if it still worked or not. Sadly, it did.
Back before the 2022 Not Dead Yet Comeback Special started, I would often walk on the treadmill at the gym at 3.5 to 4 MPH an hour, and despite no sign that I should, I would mix in some jogging intervals in a futile attempt not to be lame. Now, after 16+ months of outdoor lumbering (hiking a pace) and some light injury-causing attempts at trail running, I found myself out walking the treadmill at 4 MPH.
Before this next part, LET ME REPEAT THIS AGAIN: I AM NOT A RUNNER! I have spent most of my life either overweight or obsessed with riding my bike. My body just never did it. OK, back to my normal word salad.
After .25 miles, I started jogging at 5 MPH and felt good. So, I kept jogging for the next .75 miles and repeated this effort two more times with some 6 MPH efforts. None of this is great to actual runners, and back 12 or so years ago, I could do the same, but with a LOT of effort and pain. This time, not so much.
I jogged along on our ancient treadmill while watching Bayern Munich on the TV in front of me and Flat Worms in my ears, with relative ease compared to pre-September 2022 me and busted out 3 miles at a 12:43-ish pace with only .75 miles done speedily walking.
Modest numbers and sweaty selfies.
This isn’t the first time over the past several months that I realized my body was adapting to foot-powered endurance, but it was the first time that I could see how people actually enjoy running. Not worrying about my legs exploding and being able to actually breathe while doing an activity is always adds to the enjoyment.
Saturday morning’s effort also came at just the right time; the combination of a long dark January filled with heavy snow, rain, shit trail conditions, sore legs, a mild dose of cabin fever, a wife coming down with a chest cold, and me waking up to a near empty lasagna pan, tomato sauce stains on my t-shirt, and my pants at down to my ankles, had me wanting to crawl back under the covers of the Bed of Torment until spring. Instead, I forced myself down to the basement and was rewarded with some modest signs of increased fitness and muscular endurance despite having eaten a month’s worth of calories the night before.
I’m hoping to not have to get on the treadmill again anytime soon, but it’s nice to know it’s there to burn off some calories, and shame if I have to. Also, I want to note that Saturday’s mileage and any future treadmill miles are NOT part of the 2024 Lumber Through Hell Tour.
I’m looking forward to getting back outside soon, as well as eating more lasagna!
Later.
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