I Accidentally Ran a 10K

Hello, again!

I went running on Saturday for the first time in a week, as I had just recovered from my "man cold".



My goal was to run 5.5 miles. The GPS on my phone wasn't working, though, so I was just winging it through my run. When I got home, I went on Map My Run  to see how far I ran.

Turns out I hit 6.2 miles. Nice!

Unfortunately it took me an hour and twenty minutes to do this, which is what happens when you miss a week of running.

So now I'm back on my workout plan, getting prepped for my real 10K, which is a week from  Saturday. After that I'm signing up for the Crim Run in Flint, then I'll be wrapping up my run training with a half-marathon in Detroit in October.

Detroit's Free Press/Talmer Bank Marathon is the most prestigious race Michigan does every year, and it's a Boston qualifier for those that want to go the full 26.2 miles. I'm looking forward to it. Not only is it a big deal for local runners, but my race involves me going over the Ambassador Bridge into Canada and back to the United States through the Windsor Tunnel. I'm scared of both of those spots, so I'll likely be doing a seven minute mile when I have to confront those two areas. :)

I have a phobia of suspension bridges and long tunnels. I will use that to my advantage. :)

I'm also down to 269 pounds. That's 98 pounds, for those who are counting.

As for last week's post, I don't want to be talking about recovering from alcoholism every week. I don't want to turn this into "My Alcoholic Recovery Blog". I want to concentrate on the fitness and weight loss portion of my life here. But I am going to start seeing a therapist soon to deal with my addiction.

This Week...

I had to take some time off because I got sick. Just a cold, but I want to get healed up as quickly as possible and that means not working out doing being active for a while. My immune system will need all of my energy!

I hope I get better soon as I really don't like not working out.

Anyway, despite being sick I've been feeling really good lately. I don't know if it's because my blood sugar stabilized after the surgery or just all the endorphins that my body keeps releasing from working out, but I've been very happy lately. I notice I treat people nicer, give them compliments, or try to make them feel good. I don't totally hate talking to complete strangers anymore.

And all the confidence. I have, ALL of the confidence.

Despite this, I do have one problem that needs to be dealt with.

I'm an alcoholic.

I was a borderline alcoholic before my surgery, and I lied about my drinking just so I could get the surgery in the first place. Then after the surgery I just became a high-functioning alcoholic. I would quit drinking for a week or a few days at a time, but eventually I'd go back to my habit of getting drunk on a nightly basis.

For the past few months I didn't care about being an alcoholic, considering I was high functioning, wasn't violent, and didn't drink unless it was my off time. But then I read this story:

This weekend, Sum 41 frontman Deryck Whibley announced that he is being treated in hospital after alcoholism “finally caught up” with him. 

“Hey everyone, it’s Deryck here. Sorry I’ve been so m.i.a. lately, but I’ve been very sick in the hospital for a month and was pretty sick for a few weeks leading up to my trip to the hospital,” he wrote. “The reason I got so sick is from all the hard boozing I've been doing over the years. It finally caught up to me.” 

He told of how he was “drinking hard every day” until one evening he poured himself another drink and sat down to watch a film when he collapsed unconscious. 

“I was stuck with needles and IV’s all over. I was completely sedated the FIRST WEEK. When I finally woke up the next day I had no idea where I was. My mum and step dad were standing over me. I was so freaked out. My liver and kidney’s collapsed on me. Needless to say it scared me straight.”

He's only a year older than me. Jesus...

I got my surgery because I knew that I'd be dead before I was 40 if I didn't lose weight. If I don't deal with my alcoholism, I may still be dead before I'm 40.

So I have to find a way to fix this. AA isn't going to help me. I tried Overeater's Anonymous and they use the Alcoholics Anonymous handbook. It didn't help, mostly due to the fact that everything in that book says that you have to "turn your life over to God". When you don't believe in God, it doesn't do you much good. It's even off-putting to hear that.

But there are other ways to get help. There's plenty of pills out there that make it so you won't crave alcohol anymore. If I can find a secular group around here (fat chance, but I'm looking), I'll join it. I have to see the doctor soon to see what can be done. Good thing I have insurance!

The Best Part About Exercise

I recently got blocked from commenting on a Facebook page called The Sports Motivation because I got angry when I saw them posting memes like this:

In the real world, that's a load of bullshit. There's many things that happen to us that are outside of our control. A man who worked at the same car plant for 25 years didn't choose to be laid off when the plant closed down. A family who has their house foreclosed on because a bank made an error can still be made homeless despite making all their mortgage payments on time. Tonight, some crazy arsonist could torch your home. In the real world, bad things happen to people who make good choices because of things they can't do anything about.

But when it comes to working out, that's the exception. In the gym, life is fair. The weights and the treadmill don't care about your background, how rich you are, or if you are politically connected. All they care about is the work you put in.

A person who is born rich and a person who is born poor can both exercise and get the same results. It doesn't matter if the rich guy has the best trainers or the finest nutritionists, if the rich guy isn't willing to put in the work, there isn't a money number high enough that will buy him strength or endurance. If a poor person trains his body, it doesn't matter if he can't buy the best gym equipment or trainers. He will improve. Athleticism is not something that can be bought on a shelf. You can't pay someone to work out for you. It's all on you.

It doesn't matter what kind of body you have, either. If you're not bedridden, you can work out. If your legs are broken, you can train your upper body. If you have a broken arm, you can do squats. So long as you aren't a quadriplegic there's something you can do.

Time is no excuse, either. I work full time, I'm a full time student, and a parent. Even if I had no one to watch my daughter (thanks, mom!), I'd take her to the gym with me, like this guy:

I might start doing that soon enough, anyway.

Henry Rollins wrote an excellent article about weight lifting in which he said that the iron reveals the truth about you in ways that people rarely do. Outside of the gym you can be an arrogant s.o.b. and cover yourself in false bravado, but inside the gym all of your shit-talking means nothing. The iron and the treadmill will tell you the truth about yourself. If you're lazy, they will tell you. If you're taking shortcuts, they will let you know. The only thing that will make you improve is by training and giving it everything you have. And when you do that, they'll make sure to tell you. You'll see it when you're lifting and running better than you ever thought possible.

Your best friends will always tell the truth about you, even when it pisses you off. In that sense, you can consider the iron and the treadmill two of the best friends you will ever have.

That's the greatest thing about working out. Life outside might be unfair as hell, but in the gym, hard work has its rewards.

The Voice and the Beast

When I workout, there’s two voices in my head.

The first one, I’ve simply named “The Voice”. The Voice has been with me for years. Every time I workout or start working out regularly, The Voice gives me reasons to quit. It tells me that I’m not strong enough, that the workout is too hard, and makes excuses to not workout. It’ll say that I’m tired, that I can’t accomplish the task given to me. Sometimes it will even fake injuries, making me feel a little pain in areas that magically heal up after I’m finished with the gym. And when none of that works, it’ll try to come up with reasons to not workout that will actually sound noble or selfless.

For example, today at the gym The Voice tried to convince me to not do leg lifts because “I’ll get the equipment all sweaty and the other people working out will think it’s gross”.

Yeah. Gotta look out for the other people in the gym. Even though I could, you know, just wipe the equipment down when I’m done. 

There truly is no lengths The Voice won’t go to to get me to quit. If screaming doesn’t work, it’ll try reasoning with me. It’ll try smooth talking. It will attempt to use a logical argument to explain why it’s in my best interest to quit. Until recently, he won a lot more battles than he lost.

The Voice is the embodiment of my self-doubt, my fears, and my desire for instant gratification. The Voice hates hard work. The Voice wants everything to be easy. And if it’s not easy, he doesn’t want me to do it.

After my last diary entry, when I acknowledged the existence of The Voice, he became louder. Beating him didn’t make him go away. Acknowledging his existence didn’t make him go away or diminish his power. He just works harder to get me to quit. The Voice is one persistent son of a bitch.

This persistence gave rise to something different while doing my run yesterday.

As The Voice continued to talk to me, I imagined something in my mind’s eye. There was a man grabbing The Voice by the throat and lifting him in the air. The Voice was no longer speaking. All he was making was choking sounds. And the man doing the choking was me, but a much larger version. Ten feet tall, and ripped to shit. With arms the size of artillery cannons. He chokes The Voice like he just gave away his last fuck an hour ago. While he’s choking The Voice, he looks at me and simply says “Run.” And I do. The Voice remains silent.

This other voice is simply called “Beast”.

Beast doesn’t kill The Voice. That’s impossible. The Voice doesn’t die, no matter how many times you beat him. But Beast silences him. He takes away The Voice’s power.

I like Beast.

When The Voice attempts to talk me out of a workout, I simply tell Beast to “sic ‘em”. And he does. The Voice is afraid of Beast.

And he should be.

I'm also down to 276. Enjoy the video.

A Funny Thing Happened on the Treadmill...

Today I did a three mile run on the treadmill at my school. I started out at a 6 mph pace (10 minute mile) for the first half-mile, then increased my speed to 6.5 mph (9:13 minute mile) for the rest of the duration.

For whatever reason, the run started feeling difficult after I was about 1.24 miles in. I was wondering if I was going to be able to finish. I kept trying to pump myself up, remind myself that I can make it, but I kept having a nagging voice in my head telling me that the run is just too hard today. Maybe I should just quit. I ignored the voice and kept on running.

Two miles passes, and I'm happy with my time, but my heart feels like it's about to jump out of my chest and run away. The voice keeps nagging me, telling me "It's okay if you can't finish today. We all have bad days, you can just pick it up next time." Another voice in my head kept pushing me along, saying "YOU'RE TRAINING FOR A 10K! HOW ARE YOU GOING TO RUN 6.2 MILES IF YOU CAN'T RUN FOR 3!"

I get to 2.4 miles and the nagging voice is now screaming at me: "THIS IS TOO FUCKING HARD! YOUR LEGS ARE SCREAMING IN PAIN! YOU SHOULD JUST STOP! IT'LL BE OKAY! LOOK, WE ALL HAVE BAD DAYS! YOU CAN PICK IT UP AGAIN NEXT TIME!"

Outside, my real voice was screaming with desperation. "C'mon! You can do this! Keep running!" I was so loud that the one other person in the gym was staring at me like I had lost my mind. Despite the positive affirmations, it's usually what I scream to myself just before I quit. My voice doesn't sound confident. It's desperate. It's begging. I was sure that I wasn't going to finish.

But I had another voice nagging at my subconscious. It wasn't speaking to me in words, just in my emotions. The feeling kept nagging at me until finally it found the words to use.

"You've been down that road too many times before. You know what it feels like to quit. The pain, the disappointment, the self-loathing, they all will hurt worse than if you run this race until the end. You can either quit now and hate yourself for it, or you can keep running and feel proud that you finished."

I keep going.

It's a 2.8 miles I start thinking I might actually make it. "You can do this. You have less than 2 minutes left. Suck it up, you're going to make it."

At 28:02, I finish. An average pace of 9:20.66 per mile.

Proud of my run, I post my time on Facebook. Later, my mom joked about my run, saying "Wow, you were running pretty fast. Who was chasing you?"

"The nagging voice in my head that kept telling me that it was too hard and I should just quit and go home. That's who was chasing me."

And I outran that fucking fuck.

I'm also down to 277 pounds. Enjoy the video.