3-Day for the Cure: Training - Week Twenty Four

Although I've been training informally for awhile now, this past week kicked off the official 24-week training schedule.

It... uh... did not go so well.

Unless, that is, you believe training also includes drinking numerous adult beverages and tipsily wandering around Boston with your husband, a dear friend, and her boyfriend.

Which... and I know this is probably surprising if you know me... I don't.

This is what my week was supposed to look like:

Suggested Training

Monday - Rest
Tuesday - 3 miles Easy Walk
Wednesday - Rest
Thursday - 3 miles Moderate Walk
Friday - 30 minutes Cross-Training
Saturday - 3 miles Easy Walk
Sunday - 3 miles Easy Walk

Tuesday went as planned, although I am opting to ramp up the whole "easy walk" concept throughout the training process. I am also using this as an opportunity to get fit, so I prefer to work up a bit of a sweat. I like to hike up the incline level to 3.5 or 4 and maintain at least a 3.5 - 3.7 mph pace. This is not, by any means, an intense workout, but I have to concentrate more at this level than I might at a more comfortable 3.0 mph pace and 1.0 incline.

Anyway, knowing that T and C were coming into town, I skipped the rest day on Wednesday and fit in another 3 miles of moderate walking. Two thumbs up for prior proper planning!

My intention was to do the same on Thursday, then to skip Friday and do my cross-training and another walk day on Saturday and Sunday.

This, friends and neighbors, is where the game plan failed.

As you may already be aware, I turned 36 this past year. I like to think of myself as a young 36, but I have definitely begun the downhill slide toward 40. I have wrinkles. And gray hair. And for the joyous among you who have not yet said farewell to your 20s, what this means is that your capacity to go out and drink and be able to rally the next day is severely diminished.

I am functional. I can even fake manage cheerful.

But following a night of 2 gummy bear martinis, a pint of raspberry chocolate stout, a cheap bottle of Chardonnay from Whole Foods, and a mere 5 hours of sleep? The gym is just a bit beyond my reach.

I haven't seen T since our wedding, in which she served as bridesmaid extraordinaire. Additionally, we hadn't yet met C, her boyfriend. Since she was only in town three days, and I wasn't able to take off of work, we really had to maximize our nights. This was already a recipe for training disaster.

Plus, this is T.

T, if you hadn't noticed, is really hot. This often makes for interesting nights out and these past few days were no exception, particularly when you add in an equally hot boyfriend, and a husband (Ryan) and wife (me) whose idea of an really exciting Friday night has recently come to involve a competitive game of Scrabble and a 6-pack of beer.

Needless to say, I did not get up and walk on Thursday or Friday. And Friday night's excursion, which involved several shots, a fierce game of beer pong, and meandering over cobblestones in high heels did not leave me especially enthusiastic about doing anything on Saturday beyond sitting in on our couch in my underwear and a tank top.

And aren't Sundays almost by definition supposed to be lazy?

So - best intentions aside - this was my training for the week:

Actual Training

Monday - Rest
Tuesday - 3 miles Moderate Walk
Wednesday - 3 miles Moderate Walk
Thursday - Rest
Friday - Wore a pedometer (yes, am a big dork and clearly not fashionable at all) and when I last glanced at it at 10PM I had hit over 8,000 steps for the day. Which is almost 5 miles in theory. However, when I got home at 1AM I was at 356 steps because it was a brand new shiny day and holy hell we are never out this late and I have no earthly idea how many steps I actually hit but OMG how much did I drink and zzzzzz....
Saturday - Walk to the bathroom 30+ times to pee; contemplate a shower
Sunday - Additional recovery necessary

Clearly alcohol is not my friend.

I need to get my ass in gear.

Snow. We Have it.

I live in Boston.

Right now, Boston looks like this:

(Actually, it looked like that a few weeks ago. Add another 20 or so inches on top of that and you'll have a good idea of what Boston looks like now.)

Anyway, what this means is that for the time being my training looks like this:

I am not a treadmill girl. But I am forcing myself to become a treadmill girl because I would like to be able to actually use my legs and possibly my feet again come August.

And in order for that to be possible, ladies and gents, I must train.

Now, my six month training schedule hasn't officially begun but almost every morning for the past two weeks I've ignored the snooze button on my alarm and instead headed to the gym. Can't say I'm exactly jumping with joy over this schedule.

But then I remind my grumpy sleepy self why I'm attempting to walk a few miles before I've had even a taste of coffee. And it becomes worth it.

Nevertheless, I'm hoping that Mr. Groundhog is accurate with his prediction this year of an early spring. Can't lose that dreadmill soon enough.