I started running last week. Well, "running" is a little inaccurate. "Trotting slowly while gasping for breath and trying not to think about heart attack" might be a more honest description.
Many, many racks of ribs, hundreds of steaks, and several hundred pounds of peanut butter are coming back to haunt me with every step.
I started out trying to make it around the block. That is not nearly so trivial as it sounds: the first day I made it more than half-way before dropping into a brisk walk for the length of one person's front yard. The second day, I dropped into a walk one house later. Now I run pretty much the whole way. Which sounds good until you remember it's actually only around the block.
I've added some push-ups and sit-ups when I get back to the house, to try and keep the heart rate up for a couple extra minutes.
The good news is, I've actually lost a couple pounds. The bad news is, I'm still way too huge.
The last time I started running was about 8 years ago, and I got up to a mile or so without a lot of difficulty. But I never stopped hating every single step.
I figure the block will do for another week, then it'll be time to crank up the intensity to two blocks. Eventually, I want to make a couple miles.
Yeah, like that'll ever happen.