All my life, I have been the quintessential jock: basketball, volleyball, track and field, cross country, swimming, water polo, wrestling, soccer, European handball; I've done it all (and by done it all I mean in high school I actually played every single one of these sports in one year, before injury knocked two or three of them off of the following year's list). In fact, since I was 13 years old I have played competitive sports year round (for the most part this means basketball, either at a club, school, provincial, national, or university level); and as such, my current transition from athlete (with a dash of everything else) to normal human being trying to stay in shape has been, shall we say, a difficult road to travel at best (and rarely does it reach this aforementioned peak).
I'll be honest, when I first started working out post-basketball I felt more than a little out of my element. I walked into my local gym, headphones blaring angry metal music, in XXL red basketball shorts, a sleeveless t-shirt with armpits ripped down to the top of my hips, and knee-high socks under bright red basketball shoes with a black wristband on each arm.
And then, I noticed just how many people were staring at me. You see, I'd completely forgotten that, outside of the underground, Rocky-movie-esque varsity athletics weight room, normal people did not dress like this. On top of that, normal people (especially normal girls) did not do max power clean reps, 355 lb. leg presses, and one-rep-max bench presses -- all to the sweet serendipity of Disturbed's "Down with the Sickness". Or, at the very least, people did not do so in public places, and if they did then it was certainly not without the soothing metabolic syrups of both powerful, illicit steroids and and a healthy dose of poorly-suppressed anger.
I realized, quite quickly after this, that for the most part I didn't know how to work out like a normal person. I had learned, from an early age, how to be a competitive athlete -- but I was now realizing just how weird our breed of creature really was, and I was struggling desperately to adjust to normalcy. On top of that, I was no longer afforded the benefit of 2000-3000 burned calories' worth of basketball practice 5 days a week, and so I would have to fit some cardio into my schedule (a fact which I was loathe to admit, as this has never been one of my strengths). Also, I figured this nouveau-unathleticism would be a perfect opportunity to work on other fitness goals that had, as a result of basketball, been shifted to the back burner -- for example, a massive improvement on my flexibility, especially that in my low back and legs.
As is all too common with my line of thinking, however, my goals are often much loftier than my body allows. Take, for example, my current efforts at bendiness:
This is the intended outcome:
This is the actual result:
Needless to say, my flexibility is still a work in progress.
I have been pleased to discover, though, that a love-hate relationship is developing between me and the treadmill: that is, I love the way running feels once I have finished doing it (and the corresponding calorie burn the process affords me), but I absolutely hate the process. Why? Because, my dear friends, I am an unathletic athlete: I, in all my ex-varsity glory, am an utterly abominable runner.
From day one, I have always been horrible at running. My side cramps within two minutes of jogging, I sweat profusely (and this is putting it lightly), and my feet pound the ground like angry Donkey Kong fists in a 90's videogame. I breathe raggedly and loudly, and my knees always seem to be closer together than my feet, giving my gait the appearance of an angry, land-locked duck.
This is how I try to run, or at least how I imagine myself doing so:
In my imagination, I am certainly no marathon runner or Olympic-level sprinter, but I maintain at least a moderate level of apparent athleticism, grace, and fluidity of effort. What does not factor in to this fantasy, though, is just how much running sucks.
Like, really. I truly hate running.
This, for me, is what running feels like:
In fact, of all the exercises out there, I think I hate running most of all. The masochist in me, however, forces me to continue doing so -- pain is just weakness leaving the body (although, perhaps, blockheadedness is taking its place). And so, as a result of this deep hatred and constant discomfort, this is the most accurate description of what I actually look like when I run:
I, despite my best efforts to the contrary, am an ugly runner. I hate the way it feels, but I love the results, and this dichotomy is represented (in as unattractive a manner as possible) in my workout appearance. I am a treadmill monstrosity; I am the-runner-that-should-never-have-been.
Despite all this, though, my (albeit accurate) self-deprecating blog does have a point. I hate running, and running hates me -- but, like a dilapidated horse and an obese, geriatric jockey, somehow, some way, we manage to work together.
And so, without further ado, here are three running workouts that, to this day, I love to hate.
Interval Series # 1: The two-peaked pyramid
-Unlike the sprint intervals listed below, this series requires you to maintain a consistent clip at a high speed for an extended period of time. Personally, I find these the easiest, but only if I'm only doing two peaks; more than that, and I feel like my legs and my lungs are having a knife fight with one another
-Begin jogging at level 5 (about a 12 minute mile pace) and incline 1. Jog for five minutes, making sure to work out any initial cramps through active stretching and deep breathing.
-At the 5 minute mark, every 30 seconds you will increase the speed of the treadmill by one full level. You will go from level 5 to level 10 (six minute mile pace), back to 5 again, then up and down once more. After that, you will jog for five more minutes at level 5 to cool down. It will look something like this:
0:00-5:00: Level 5, warmup
5:00-5:30: Level 5
5:30-6:00: Level 6
6:00-6:30: Level 7
6:30-7:00: Level 8
7:00-7:30: Level 9
7:30-8:00: Level 10
8:00-8:30: Level 9
8:30-9:00: Level 8
9:00-9:30: Level 7
9:30-10:00: Level 6
10:00-10:30: Level 5
10:30-11:00: Level 6
11:00-11:30: Level 7
11:30-12:00: Level 8
12:00-12:30: Level 9
12:30-13:00: Level 10
13:00-13:30: Level 9
13:30-14:00: Level 8
14:00-14:30: Level 7
14:30-15:00: Level 6
15:00-20:00 Five-minue cool-down, level 5
Interval Series # 2: 30-second sprints
-You will start this series with a five-minute warmup as well. After that, you will turn the treadmill up to level 10 for 30 seconds, then back down to level 5 for 30 second rest. So, half a minute sprint, half a minute rest. I do ten of these, twenty on days when I really and truly hate myself. And no matter what, I always finish with a five-minute cool down at level 5.
-For example:
0:00-5:00: level 5, warmup
5:00-5:30: level 10
5:30-6:00: level 5
6:00-6:30: level 10
6:30-7:00: level 5
-etc., etc.
Interval Series #3: I am filled with self-loathing and the only solution is pain; a.k.a., one-minute interval sprints
-These are essentially the same as the above, but you spent a full minute at level ten for the sprints, and then give yourself a full minute's rest. Doing five of these is like doing ten 30-second sprints, and vice versa. The only difference with these is you must maintain the 6-minute-mile pace for a longer period of time, which makes this series (at least in my opinion) more difficult.
-For example:
0:00-5:00 level 5, warmup
5:00-6:00 level 10
6:00-7:00 level 5
7:00-8:00 level 10
8:00-9:00 level 5
-etc., etc.
"and my feet pound the ground like angry Donkey Kong fists in a 90's videogame."
ReplyDeleteGod that made me laugh