Monday, January 24, 2011

Testing ... testing

I'm feeling a bit like a slug today.

This was not a weekend of great activity. This was a weekend of hanging out, eating good food, working, and celebration. And there was much to celebrate.

See, Saturday morning, I did not have my regular workout. Instead, I had an appointment with Donna to have my Cardio Point metabolic test done. It was ... interesting.

I'm relatively fit. I'm capable of a lot. There is still much work to be done.

So I arrive at the gym and meet up with Donna, and we get ready to start the test. She needs to know my weight; I'm not shy about this. It's real, I might as well own it. "212," I say. "You carry it well," she says. Yeah, I know - I don't look nearly as overweight as I am. I'm lucky. I'm tall. Thank you, Jesus. Next, I'm hooked up to the computer to monitor my heartrate, and I'm fitted with a most stunning neoprene mask that tracks my oxygen intake and my CO2 output. I look like Hannibal Lecter, only not as cute. This is the price of fitness.

I hop up on the treadmill and the test begins. A little walkies, at 3.2 miles per hour. Sounds simple, until we're in the thick of it and I'm climbing at a huge incline, waiting for sweet death. Soon it's time to recover, and I'm ready to learn my results.

Well, for one thing, I have a heart. I have a pretty solid heartrate training zone, but it can definitely use some improvement. I need to do more work in the lower zones to torch the fat. And I need to improve my aerobic endurance so I can run without gasping for breath. I have a program for all of that, and we begin today.

So I'm sitting there with Donna and she's explaining the test to me, and she's putting my new metabolic information into my watch - the one that works with my heartrate monitor. It will now reflect true information, so I know where I'm at in terms of burning the fat. Then she says, "Oh, we have to change this number, too."

It's my weight, which I didn't know was programmed into the watch. I bought my heartrate monitor in March of 2008, six months after I joined the gym. The weight in the watch was 267, so Donna started hitting the "down" button. "I'm still going," she said. 55 clicks. 55 pounds. I started to cry.

55 pounds, just since I bought the damn watch. Add another 15 to that before I started wearing it; that's a total of 70 pounds since this journey started. 212 has never felt quite so svelte.

I still have a lot of work to do. I'm scared every day that I'll fail. But I keep trying, because while I know I might fail ... I also know that even if I do, I will keep trying. And I will eventually succeed.

Oh, and for the record, I did weigh in last Thursday. I have gained a little; hello, 212. That's okay. I'm biologically squishy and water retention-y, so I'm letting myself off the hook. Back on the wagon today.

No comments: