Day 9- There's Something About Saturdays

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There is something about Saturdays that causes my body to reject the idea of running. Maybe I am so resigned to doing things I am not excited about on weekdays, and that's why my workouts have been so successful. They have, by the way, been quite successful. Last week I ran the full 40 minutes on both Tuesday and Friday, and the 20 minutes slated for Wednesday with absolutely no complications. My pace is steady (if none too swift), my mind works through it and everything comes off like I have been doing this for years. But there's something about Saturdays that inspires a total system meltdown.


Maybe it is the fact that I can't limit my exercise simply to the running regime plotted out by my friends at Team in Training. In addition to my short Wednesday night run, I spent 40 minutes that afternoon with Master Wilson.


Here I must and draw you a picture of the man who will turn me into one of two things: a brick wall, or a whimpering puddle of human remains. Master Wilson is the nicest and cruelest man I have yet to meet in one package. A former Drill Instructor for the Marine Corps (and if you heard his voice, you would believe it. This man has been yelling at people for YEARS), he now teaches fitness and self-defense around San Diego County. His methods must work, the man is a fortress of a human being, but oh! the agony to get there.


Master Wilson teaches in the gym next to my classroom six times a week and all of his students have been singing his praises and compelling me to try the class for weeks. Last Wednesday, I complied, only to learn that these invitations were firmly rooted in the adage, "Misery loves company." Master Wilson cuffed our ankles together with rubber bands and made us kick, crunch, squat, and lift until I was seeing spots. Then, to add insult to injury, he told me that if I didn't come back that was okay, they would just all know that I am a wimp. "Well, hell," I thought, "I've known I'm a wimp for years. Might as well pass the information along, right?"


But I digress.


Between Master Wilson Wednesdays and hours of volleyball Friday, I was not standing too well on my own two feet come Saturday morning. Having considered the previous week's cramping incident, I developed a new plan: eat breakfast, go to my volleyball class for 3 hours and then run. By then my body should be warmed up, I will have food in my system, and I should be able to rock this hour of running out in no time. Being clever readers, you have, no doubt, surmised my lack of success from the context clues, but I will tell you anyway. Boys and girls, one would have thought that I had not yet learned to walk, let alone pedal my feet at a more rapid pace so as to be considered running. My ineptitude was astonishing! I ran for 42 minutes because I wanted to extend my time even if that meant only slightly, but those were some of the most excrutiating minutes of my life to date. It felt as though I was trying to give birth to a baby elephant through my calves. Ugly is a good word for it. Straight up ugly. Maybe I have some mental block against running on Saturdays. Maybe I just need to give myself more time to build up my endurance, but Saturdays, so far, have been evil for my running game. Evil.