Six months later, I'm still at the gym, still running, and now planning on how to make this last for the rest of my life. I don't want this to be a fad. I want this to be what I do, who I am, part of my identity.
At the gym today, I went on a treadmill for the first time in six weeks or so. I'm tired of riding a bike for 7 minutes, so I decided to run for 5 minutes instead. Such a strange feeling now to be on a treadmill, but feels good to ramp up to 7.5 miles per hour at the very beginning. Of course, it was a warm-up, not a sprint, so I calmed down and just watched Ellen for a few minutes. Via the closed captioning, I learned that some 9-year-old kid was hawking a book on "How to Talk To Girls." I smiled, but didn't worry too much about it. Right now, I'm focused on running, and after 5 minutes, I'd "run" half a mile without breaking a sweat and moved on to the weight machines.
I won't go into those details, except to say I definitely need to get a personal trainer. I'm concerned I'm building my body in a very uneven fashion. My wrists are still ridiculously skinny. My calves and thighs are bulking up, but they taper up to my knees, making me look a reverse Christmas cracker. And, of course, I'm not really doing what I need to do to get my core tightened.
Somewhere in that last sentence is a metaphor that carries deep meaning if only I could flesh it out. I am confident that along with the exercise, all will become clear in the near future. I've placed myself on a new path that I could not have imagined. Somewhere in this paragraph and in these last six months are the secrets to my happiness.
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