That's what Johnny and I both think about running.
Tonight I decided, "Hey, why not go run a mile around the neighborhood when you get home?" GREAT IDEA! Probably one of the very best ideas I have ever had in my whole damn life. Sure, I hate running. But why not go run a mile after work?!?
I can do 60 minutes on the arc trainer at an incline/resistance that burns 800 calories, so running a measly mile should be cake.
I was thinking that, at worse, it would take about 12 minutes.
Yeah. Twelve minutes. It didn't take 12 minutes, though. Not at all. Let me put it this way - after running for about a block the main thought skipping through my brain was something along the lines of "SCREW THIS."
So I walked as fast as my stumpy little legs would go for the entire mile, and I finished in a time of:
You can say it - it sucks. It blows. It both sucks AND blows. Believe me, I know it. I'm embarassed to even commit the number to posterity in this post. I'm also, strangely, pissed off about it. It does mean there is plenty of room for improvement, but ... I dunno. It's just a very poor time.
One thing is certain - if I don't improve that time a whole lot, there's not going to be much point in competing in that mini-triathlon. I'll be out of it before the first leg is even halfway over.
The only thing I can say in my defense (and I realize this is a Communion wafer-thin excuse), is that I was doing this after a full day of work, and I admittedly wasn't pushing myself. Why wasn't I pushing myself? Quite simply, I didn't really want to. I didn't have my inhaler with me, and I started feeling lung weirdness about halfway through. So I really need to remember to bring that with me tomorrow night.
Yes, I said TOMORROW NIGHT, DAMMIT.