After reading my last entry my wife offered up a gentle suggestion that went something like this, "So Honey, why don't you blog something about, oh, I don't know, walking maybe?" Apparently she's under the impression that a blog called phatgirlwalking should occasionally mention none other than...walking. Fine. Okay. I can do that.
In a nutshell, I started walking in January 2006 and over the next nine months kept walking, training first for a half marathon in July and then a full marathon in October. I logged somewhere around 500 miles more or less during that time. Since pulling a DNF at the Portland Marathon I discontinued walking. First, there was a full month off for recovery and physical therapy and then in November I started back to the gym and have been going nearly everyday with cardio six days a week punched with two to three sessions a week with D_wn, my personal trainer.
Here's the thing. When I was logging all my miles outside I couldn't have imagined spending time in the gym unless it was 20 degrees below or 100 degrees above celsius. No, more than that. I mocked those who did. Why would anyone choose to walk for a couple hours on a boring dreadmill in a stuffy room when you could set out from your front door, walking in a half-dozen directions, each with its own sights and sounds and surprises? I was an outdoor-training snob and proud of it, thank you very much. But something has happened over the past couple months. I've fallen in love with the gym and it's recirculated air, the stiff white terry cloth towels, the clanging weight machines, the sound of Britney Spears singing "Oops, I Did It Again" pulsing through the sound system, and yes, D_wn my perky and adorable personal trainer. It seems that Phatgirl has become a gymrat.
All fine and good except for one little thing. Later this month I need to begin my sixteen week training schedule to prepare for a half-marathon in April and I've come to realize that I'm actually dreading the idea of leaving the cozy artificial environment of my gym cocoon for the highways and byways of the great out-of-doors a few days a week. This surprises no one more so than it does me, Phatgirl. Can anyone else relate?