I noticed yesterday that I had gotten fat since arriving in Canada. Well, fatter.
In the span of two weeks.
(I noticed it, and my friend, of course, as friends like to do, confirmed it. “Hey, you’re fatter.” “Thanks so much.”)
Too much eating, and no more elliptical machine for me to use.
So last night I settled on the rather ambitious plan of waking at 4:30am today to jog for an hour.
I awoke a few times, and finally decided to check what time it was. 6:30am. Apparently, when you set the iPad to “Do not disturb”, it actually applies to alarms as well. It obligingly refrained from disturbing me with my pesky alarm.
So it was 7am by the time I got out to start jogging.
And promptly ran into the problem I’d been trying to avoid with the 4:30am thing.
You know when you go to the gym and look at the treadmills all lined up beside each other? And 99% of the treadmills have a lean, mean muscle machine in skimpy shorts and a tank top racing away on it at top speed? (And you, poor sucker, get to try to exercise next to that. And they wonder why there are so many one-time gym visitors. Haaaaa. But I digress.)
Well, when you’re in great shape and can actually run for longer than a few minutes without collapsing and wheezing like a beached whale, public exercise is good.
If not? Not so good.
So when I emerged at 7am, there were quite a few people on the sidewalks on their way to work.
I eyed them warily, but they never stopped coming in small clumps of two and three. If I waited for them to dissipate, I’d be there all day.
So I started jogging.
The problem with jogging at 7am is there are so many witnesses to your agony when you realize after a few minutes of jogging that this was really reaching way beyond your mortal ken. And on top of having to pause and wheeze like a bellows, you have to do it subtly in case you alarm nearby morning walkers by looking like you’re having cardiac arrest.
The art of subtle wheezing takes great skill and practice. I don’t think I succeeded entirely, as several people eyed me with concern as I passed. Or they were surprised by the rare sight of a fat Asian red-faced and puffing while jogging at a snail’s pace. Whatever, I’ll never see them again. (Because if I do, I plan to turn around and go in the other direction.)
I ended up spending most of the time walking. I’d like to say it was brisk walking, but old men walking their fat bulldogs passed me with ease as I hobbled along.
I went back home after 40 minutes. Maybe I should just plan to walk and save myself (and passersby) the wheezing drama.