Did my first mile easily under fifteen minutes - okay, I'm defining "easily" as "ten to fifteen seconds to spare without putting on a push to make it."
Did two miles in thirty minutes and fifteen or twenty seconds. I'm calling it thirty minutes.
Ran it up to 2.2 miles in thirty-five minutes on the cool down. I would have liked to have gotten to two and a quarter, but damned if I was staying on that thing longer than I needed to. Somewhere around a mile and a quarter it felt like someone had pulled the plug, and all the energy just ran out of me - I felt seriously seedy, so I slowed way down in the middle for a while. I have a feeling that passing out will generate an incident report, and no one wants that. Despite that I made my two miles, so I'm feeling fairly good about that.
I'm finding this is easier now that I've given up on anything resembling pride or dignity. My physical reaction to exercise - heck, my whole physical self - is embarrassing. I'm stout. I'm flabby. I get out of breath *immediately.* Within five minutes I am bright red in the face, and the sweat drips off of me. NONE of this is in the least attractive or dignified (I go SO red that an hour later people are still asking if I'm okay.) I've decided that I need to just live with the embarrassment.
Initially I was hitting the treadmill at 11:00 because there's no one else there, and I do NOT want an audience for my humiliation. Now I just like that I can get the treadmill I want, and there's no line for the shower. I've decided that I just need to do what I need to do, and ignore the other people (who are fitter, stronger, thinner, and more attractive.) I'm getting more out of my workouts since I've decided to do that. The thing that I have realized however, is that in my mind I'm still that kid in gym class who Just. Can't. Do. It. I tried. Dear God, I tried. President Kennedy said that all children shall be physically fit, and we will torture, mock, and humiliate them until it is so. But I couldn't DO fifty or however many sit-ups it was that they wanted when I was in sixth grade. I was that kid - we're all stuck here until SHE's done. I was the one puking in the bushes because we had to run an eight minute mile, and God forbid you slow to a walk because you're wheezing, the world has gone grey, and you (no shit) feel like you're going to pass out. I did the best I could, but I was alway left slogging around the perimeter of the gym while everyone else who had finished watched impatiently.
That girl will never go away. She takes every class with me. She is my personal legacy of Kennedy's Fitness Program. She is the girl who used to run and jump and climb trees and spend every moment not reading running around outside, and that program taught her that exercise was about pain, failure, and public humiliation. So she stopped trying. It was very clear that no matter how exhaustive her efforts, it would never be good enough, so spend the time on other things. I swear - with complete sincerity - that program is WHY I am stout.
Well, that was quite a departure from the standard how many miles in how many minutes report. I guess it was stewing.