Look On My Works Ye Mighty And Despair!

Disclaimer: This entry is disgusting. For those of you do not want to hear about the tainted lungs and natural, um, issues of a sickly person, please don't read any further. Watch the linked youtube video below or something. I'll be sure to have a less unpleasant post later on about, like, panic in buying people Christmas gifts (I've bought 1! And I don't even know if it's really going to be for him!). You have been warned.

Okay, so y'all know that when I got back from NY, my body basically had had enough of this crap and completely broke down on me. I spent most of the weekend in bed, a sadsack unable to buy groceries, being tended to by the cats. And by tended to, I mean forced to play with the needy ones.

So, I finally began feeling better around Monday, aside from a death cough, which pleased the coworkers around me I'm sure. But now, even that's mostly gone away and I'm a pretty presentable person. Well, as presentable as I normally am.

This was very exciting news, because yes(!), I can finally work out again! I hadn't worked out since that disastrous Thanksgiving run, where my lungs decided to stop working on me and I couldn't finish. Not that I'd been working out as steadily as I would've liked before then. That's another story. Anyway, now I had no more excuses. My legs were ready, my lungs kind of ready, but most importantly, my mind was ready. I was going to run.

I hadn't been coughing so much, so I didn't think it was an issue. I had a decent dinner beforehand, and waited the usual amount of time before heading down to the building's (thankfully empty) weight room (timed during a commercial break of Top Chef) to watch the rest of the episode while running.

Everything was going great. I was well-hydrated and off to a great start. Ariane just won the Elimination Challenge (aside: who else thought it was hilarious that Padma tried to pretend that she and Gail really are BFF outside of the show?) much to the displeasure of Jamie and I was now running at around a 6 mph pace. Cool.

In order for me to think that any running cardio workout is actually worthwhile, I've gotten to the point where I have to run at least 5 minutes (normally 10) on 6.5 mph. This is a holdover from FBI training days (something I have been inching back towards these days) when 6.5 was the minimum pace for passing the 2 mile run part of the physical fitness test. So I put it on 6.5 and for about 2.5 minutes, it went really well.

Then it happened--my mouth began getting abnormally dry and my lungs started to feel weird. They didn't really hurt like running outside in NY, but something unnatural was happening in there. I realized that I needed to cough, and specifically needed to cough something, um, up. Now, I'm in the weight room in my building, so I can't really spit on the floor, but I really really want to finish my workout. At this point, I know that I can't run longer than 5 minutes on 6.5, and should be glad to finish even that. After those five minutes, I started cooling down and taking the speed on the treadmill back down in intervals. Then I began coughing and it was horrible.

Now I really needed to spit, but I still had five minutes left on my workout, and I was going to finish dammit. So I hold it. It's only five minutes right? Then, after 2 minutes of agony, I begin to cough again. I HAD NO CHOICE. I spit into my hand. So there I was, cooling down while holding my left hand as far away from me and the treadmill as possible. I could still make it and then go wash my hand in the small bathroom attached to the weight room. I could do it. Two minutes, I have two minutes now.

Then the most horrible combination of events happened simultaneously. I was racked with another set of awful coughs as I once more lowered the speed on the treadmill awkwardly with my right hand, an act which caused me to stumble over my feet a little. The combination of all of these things led to one of the most cartoonish moments of my life: I nearly tripped over my feet and instinctively grabbed onto the treadmill WITH BOTH HANDS, and, um, naturally my left hand slips and I pretty much fall on the treadmill. Luckily the treadmill goes off immediately, lest it kill me with the tread. Now uncontrollably coughing, I make my way to the bathroom to get paper towels to try to clean off as much as I can.

I really hope the landlady didn't see it on the surveillance cameras--there's a 75% chance that she was watching one of her weird soap operas instead of the security feed anyway. But still. Worst gym experience ever. Before then I was going to do sit ups as well, but instead I just drank lots of water and slunk back to my apartment. It was such a humiliating experience that I was glad to be working out alone. So naturally I had to share it with all of you.

Maybe there is something to this whole "running outside" thing. Hmm.

Creepy Creepy Video

Creepy Pencil

Just found this and wanted to share, because I like to disturb all of you whenever possible. Enjoy.

Oh, if you wanted an actual blog post:

I took a two hour nap today instead of going to the gym; my priorities need to be realigned, because now that the gym is closed, I am no longer tired.

There, that should sate you. Yes, I said sate.

Whiny McWhinerson

I've been having a not too happy summer. I don't really know why, but I've been in a funk for, like, a month. No real cause for it, but this malaise (post-college malaise perhaps? Alex?) has been settling gradually over the weeks. Maybe it's due to the fact that it's nice outside and I'm cooped up in an office building doing pointless busywork, since we've run out of meaningful busywork. Maybe it's due to the fact that I've been having more money issues than ever before. Maybe it's because my great-aunt has been slowly dying of lung cancer and just passed away last Friday.

Well, whatever the case, I've been shutting down a bit more than normal recently, and I need to cut it out. Mainly because I totally stopped working out. I haven't been pushing myself in the gym as much, and I haven't actually run in weeks. So, this has turned into a cycle of self-abuse. I feel down, so I don't want to go work out, so I don't get endorphins regularly coming in, so I get really out of shape, so I feel even worse. I've been going through endorphin withdrawal! The remedy has been Netflix and ordering in. Not good for my wallet or my health! And when I got Buffy, I've just been watching that and eating ice cream. Not that there's anything wrong with Buffy and ice cream, but I have to be active as well.

I actually realized this over the weekend, and have now managed to run my old pace on Monday and yesterday. This has been really hard to get back into, since I managed to get so out of shape. Tuesday I did some stairstepper (cop out!) and lifted a little. I'm seeing Joel on Sunday, and I'm a little scared. Not only is he going to kick my ass more than normal, but I feel bad about letting him down. I guess I've become one of those cliched people, or clichle, who wants to make her trainer proud. Damn my abusive relationship!

Also, I need to seriously clean my apartment. I wouldn't be surprised if people think I'm actually depressed from the way it looks.

Okay, so that's me. I'm already feeling better, and hopefully I'll be able to stick this one out. In the meantime, here's something happy:

Where the Hell is Matt?

I guess I'm slow on the uptake, because I'd never heard of him before this morning. That was pretty cool.