Push, push, push...

This morning's jog held little in the way of overheard conversation, except for a man who passed me (everyone passes me) who was saying that maybe the reason he felt so bad yesterday was because he hadn't had anything to eat all morning.

"Watson, quick, man, the game's afoot and it's weak from lack of food!"

"Good God, Holmes, surely you don't mean...?"

"Yes, and the disguise is fiendish. He's managed to add inches to his height, dye his hair, change his voice, but we know why he ate nothing yesterday morning! With that, he's given himself away...that, and the fact that he's still wearing that adult diaper..."

Giving birth to an improved cardiopulmonary conditioning is like having a baby; you keep telling yourself to push, but unlike childbirth, you aren't sure what the outcome is going to be. After plugging along and seeing my heart monitor barely register a vital sign, I wondered if I would ever, ever manage to get beyond my jog-this-block, walk-the-next-one mode. Would I ever be able to do it without struggling? Would I eventually breeze through without watching the clock or speeding up just to reach the end of the block so I could rest?

Then, after all that musing as I plodded along, it dawned on me that something had changed: I wasn't going as slow as I was yesterday. I even had the energy to try different ways of jogging--short, fast steps, or slower, longer strides. In a fit of frustration, I picked my feet up and actually ran the last third of a block--shooting my heart rate up to 153 but feeling absolutely wonderful. It was then I noticed that I had lost track of the time and had gone ten minutes past my 30 minute session. Hope springs eternal!! And when this birthing process is over with, I won't have to stay up nights for weeks on end feeding a colicky baby!