Day #2: Fitness Failure

Last year, I ran a half marathon. For those of you who know me (I imagine that's everyone reading this blog) this may seem pretty unbelievable. If you knew me in elementary school, you would know that I was the one student in my class of 15 eighth graders who failed to pass the Presidential Physical Fitness Challenge because I couldn't run a mile in under 20 minutes.

Twenty minutes.

Let me put this in perspective for my fellow n0n-excercisers:

You can probably complete a mile in less than 20 minutes even if you do the whole damn thing on one leg. And run backwards for one fifth of it. And have a rope tied to you dragging a wagon full of small children telling you "YOU SUCK!"

Which is pretty much the way I ran my mile in the eighth grade. Not the wagon part. Or the one leg part. Just the other people yelling at me part.

Picture it:

I am 13. I am already of sasquatchian height and have a rear-end with its own zip code (seriously, sometimes I left that ass in other rooms and had to remember to go back and get it). I had hair cut not disimilar to Johnathan Brandis circa 1992 (think: his deeply thought provoking work Ladybugs):

I am wearing hot pink (because it was 1992. duh.) elastic waistband shorts with matching slouchy socks and tee shirt. I am "running" around the back parking lot of St. John the Evangelist Church in 100 degree heat, sweating like a whore in church.

And I am alone. Not metaphorically -- literally. Every single one of my classmates has long since finished the mile and they are standing around impatiently, hands on hips, arms crossed, PE teacher with his too-short shorts holding a (at this juncture, totally pointless) stopwatch -- all staring at me as I go around and around and...

That makes it sound like I went "around" quickly. I did not.

The black asphalt is slick from the mirages created by the heat. I try to focus on the appearance of water ahead. But all I can hear is...

"GOD! Hurry up already!"

"Can we go in now? I mean, she already lost."

Yes, I had lost. And this memory has haunted me well into my adulthood, and spurned my dreams of becoming...

An athlete.

Yes, I hoped I might become a runner and so, with a wedding on the horizon last year, I decided to sign myself up for a half marathon and train.

I ran and I trained and I went to the half marathon and I did it! I ran 13.1 miles!

Please see evidence below:

Admittedly, "run" may be a strong word to describe how I completed the last 5 miles, but that's neither here nor there.

After the half marathon (and after the wedding) I had grand ambitions to continue this healthy lifestyle -- to never give it up -- to stay committed to my passion.

Total miles run since half marathon: 2.

This is because as a wedding gift I recieved a box wrapped in white paper and tied with a beautiful bow. Inside was a giant heap of demotivation and it was the genesis of the 20lbs I have successfully added to my physique over the last year.

Recently, I tried to return to fitness. However, since I am broke (see previous post) I decided to try the free exercise videos on OnDemand. It was here that I met Cindy, my trainer for Belly Bulge Blast (name is real -- I could not make that up).

Cindy likes to teach me a move and then do that move repeatedly, only, on, like, crack.

Cindy: Move to the left!

Me: [Moves to the right] Shit!

Cindy: Now step back and squat!

Me: [Steps forward and stands up] Shit!

Cindy: You can do it!

Me: [Too busy panting to speak].

Cindy: Pick it up now!

Me: [Dying]

Cindy: One more set! A little faster now!

Me: [Dying and reaching].

Cindy: You can do it!

[Click].

Me: No I can't.

Goodbye Cindy. I'll take the eighth graders on the asphalt.