I am Basically a Triathlete

It is a known fact that I am hyperemotional. I have many highs and a few lows. There are times I feel as jubilant as a Sound of Music-esque child, skipping through the scenic Austrian hillsides and then there are days when I am hovering of the bottom of dark abyss of misery. I am an all or nothing kind of gal and mostly I go with the all. This becomes particularly problematic in the world of consumption. Eating is one of life’s greatest pleasures and I could be perfectly content journeying along life’s continuous smorgasbord until I am to be rolled to the juicing room to be squeezed. I often drift off into daydreams in which I have been blessed with one of those nebulous fast metabolisms that I have heard whispers of in the form of folklore legend. But alas I was not, so I have embarked on the journey of becoming equally zealous as I am in my workout routine as I am my consumption.

I have tried spinning and have been an avid cyclist since the remorseful post imbibement rides of College. Typically these workouts were either prefaced or punctuated by one of many trips to the all you can eat buffet, which fortunately through the years have minimized in volume. In addition to my overindulgence/portion control issues I also have a tendency to get mildly overheated in stress inducing situations in temperature and temperament. Hence, I have tried several times to embrace my inner yogi to become a more balanced and cool individual.

But alas, my mind wanders when supposed to be focused on breath, I have horrible balance, and I still can’t touch my toes. I even dabbled in the world of Bikram, enduring tropically inspired workouts and cult followers who believe that if one is not in a severe state of pain, the “yoga isn’t working. “ After I was told that a night’s sleep could be replaced by holding a certain pose for 30 seconds, I bailed on principle alone. Additionally, it came to light that I couldn’t actually eat whatever I wanted while my body worked out the toxins and kept only the nutrients it needed.” As one particular zealot had proclaimed one hazy Sunday. I have always felt there is something more for me in the workout world.

Above all, I have always wanted to be a runner. Runners seem smarter and healthier than any other type of exercise fanatic. They always look so coordinated and focused as they trot around scenic lakes and sculpted paths. They are dedicated, running at all hours, and in all terrains. I imagine that runners enjoy among other things, fresh squeezed juice, the New York Times crossword, and home made granola. I bet they read before bed versus watching hours of Sex And the City, and Frasier re-runs. Most likely they wake up naturally in the morning allowing extra time to make a sensible breakfast of fresh fruit and yogurt. They probably work with a charity that allows them to mentor troubled children and spend Sunday reading to the blind.

Anyway, in need of some serious motivation and perhaps a little discipline I have decided I will need to become a runner. Since I need a goal and a marathon seems too overwhelming, I have determined to devote myself to training for a triathlon. I am two weeks in and I can’t say that I have yet achieved the acme of a runner’s high, but I do feel very happy running through Central Park with my newfound compatriots. I also am not sure if it counts as running when most elderly walkers have passed me on my few outdoor runs, but I do know for a fact that when a raccoon makes a surprise appearance on the reservoir running path, I can go at least 2 miles faster per hour. So if push comes to shove, I am hoping random wildlife can help inspire a quicker pace. We shall see if I begin to wean off late night TV or become more charitable, but for now I will be happy if I can just continue to manage to chug along on the path of life without passing out. Stay tuned.