For now, here are last weeks stats:
Weight Sunday 3/24 281 lbs.
Weight Sunday 3/31 276.9 lbs.
Total weight loss to date: 11.8 lbs.
Hello 270's! Been a while! Nice to see you, but hopefully won't be staying long!
Tues. 3/26 35 min run/walk 2.25 mi
Thur. 3/28 45 min run/walk 3 mi
Sat. 3/30 1 hr 15 min run/walk 4.5 mi (ran 2)
Sun 3/31 1 hr 15 min run/walk 4.5 mi (ran 2)
I tried a new route Sat/Sun. One of those days was supposed to just be a long walk, but I decided what the hell. It felt good. It wasn't easy by any means, but it is getting easier. The run stretches were 2 sections of 1 mile each and I was able to run those non-stop and consistently (albeit at a pretty slow pace.) Got a long way to go, but I am moving in the right direction one baby step at a time.
So, on my Thursday run last week, I had a truly profound moment. A moment that signaled my arrival into the brotherhood (and sisterhood) of runners. A moment that every runner experiences and is never quite prepared for no matter how inevitable it is. It's overwhelming when it happens. All encompassing. A return to a more primal self when all we could do was run to get from place to place, without the modern conveniences and comforts we so take for granted. Yes true believers, as I ran through a wooded park with nary an establishment in sight, I...fledgling runner, wayward traveler on the road to Chicago...had to go to the bathroom. And not number 1. Yes, the other. Whilst running.
It started innocently enough. I had arrived at Northponds Park that chilly afternoon, determined to get in my 3 miles in under 45 minutes. As I got out of the car and began my warm-up walk, I felt that ever subtle but distinct twinge in the bowels. At that point I was 1/10 of a mile in. I stopped and looked back at the public restroom building on the southern edge of the park that runs along the route 104 service road. I was in quite a conundrum. To turn back or not turn back. That was the question. Whether 'tis nobler to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous bowel urges or to take off these slimming spandex pants, and thereby relieve oneself...(Sorry. I direct Shakespeare ya know...) So, I decided I could tough it out and make it around the pond (Northponds is exactly 1 mile around, and after all, I did have my big boy running pants on!)
So, with determination in my mind and heart, I set off. It wasn't so bad. I was actually able to distract my thoughts and after a few minutes the urge had subsided. Well, any of you local readers who know Northponds Park know that on the far north side around the 4/10-half mile mark, there is a hill. It's not a big hill. But even so, hills suck ass. For me the best way to tackle a hill is to take it aggressively. I up my pace a little, pump my arms and legs a little harder. I grit my teeth and grunt. And when I get to the top, it feels darn good. Most of the time. This time however...not so much. I reached the top, the theme song from Rocky pounding in my head. As I reached the apex, the pinnacle, there it was. That feeling returning with a vengance as if to say "I'm back asshole. Nice going!!" I was not going to make it all the way around. I panicked! "What do I do?" I thought looking around as if by some miracle of wishful thinking a porta-potty or another restroom building would materialize out of thin air where there was none. But alas, my wishes fell on deaf ears. The gods did not drop a toilet down from the heavens. I had no choice but to high tail it into the thicket of trees and look for a spot. I found one that seemed masked enough from the running path and the road to my north. And there, in the cool embrace of nature...I shit in the woods. Like many a runner before, and many to come, I dropped said spandex and made my involuntary contribution to the ecosystem. Ah, sweet relief. There was that momentary bliss that naturally follows but that was quickly eclipsed by a second wave of panic. I had no toilet paper. No wipes, nothing. I could use my underwear but that would mean having to stand up and risk being seen by passersby as I stripped my shoes and pants off to get at said underwear. What should I do? The last time I was in this predicament I was 10 years old and ended up with poison ivy on my ass for 3 weeks. I tried to reach into the deep recess of my mind and strained to recall critical information I learned when I was a cub scout for a week (something about all those brown shirts in a room chanting made this little Jewish kid just a tad bit uncomfortable.) Hmmm, look for dried leaves, Maple or Oak is best. And ones on a branch are better than ones on the ground. Better chance that an animal hasn't defecated on them. Oh, and stay away from ones that are shiny and are 3 leaves clustered together (alas, this information was imparted to me after the poison ivy incident of 1982.)
There I was, squatting down in the woods, looking for something to wipe my ass with when it hit me. Here I was a modern man, used to all the conveniences and creature comforts of modern life taken back to a primal self. I was, in that moment of relieving myself in the woods, no longer Sandy Nagar, 21st century man. I was an animal. I was our ancestors. I imagined that this must have been what it was like to be a neanderthal or a caveman. You got from one place to another by walking. If you wanted to get there quickly, you ran. and if you needed to relieve yourself, you stopped where you were, dropped down and did it. And nearby would be someone else also doing it, then running off. Or maybe an animal would be sitting nearby, your actions indistinguishable from theirs. For once upon a time, we were nothing more than animals walking the earth. Running across it. There was no distinction between us and animals. There was no worry about that project, that deadline, my cholesterol, my heart rate. There was the run. Get from here to there. That's it.
As I grabbed a clump of maple leaves from a nearby branch, I remembered a section of Song of Myself by Walt Witman from his work Leaves of Grass:
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