Unfortunately, I haven’t been running as much as I’d like to. Right now, my longest run happens about once a week and lasts for about 45 minutes on the elliptical machine at the gym. However, I’m at the martial arts studio about five to six days a week and in each class, we do running drills, so that ups my running a bit to and additional ten to 30 minutes a day, depending on how long the workout is. I also do my usual spin class, weight training and my new interest, yoga. I’m not always good, but I like the variety. I must say that I’m impressed by the fact that I can actually do these things and not bitch about it.
But I’m sad because I’m not running as much and sadly, I’m not missing running the long distances. Not that I’m giving up races, I’m just putting them on hold right now. I need to get through orals and have decided to hold off on all races until after the magic date: April 28th. That’s when training will start and I’m hoping my first race will be the SF Aids 1/2 Marathon in July.
Until then, I’m keeping the workout schedule I have right now.
Lately I’ve been mustering in and actually enjoying the feel of a good sweat. You know what kind of sweat I’m talking about – not the kind that makes you feel dirty and stinky (like the kind that runs through your body after nine hours under the hot Maui sun). The kind of sweat I’m talking about is the kind that cleanses you – takes away the impurities and just makes you feel good. If you don’t know what kind of sweat I’m talking about, then I feel sorry for you.
I think it’s yoga. Taking classes with my totally awesome yoga instructor Dolian, a 60-something, spunky Pinay who isn’t afraid to chase down Justin Timberlake because he’s her granddaughter’s favorite entertainer. I adore Dolian. While yoga should be relaxing (which it sometimes is), I can’t help but work up a really hard sweat. For some reason, that sweat always makes me feel so refreshed. I like to think it’s my body’s way of purging evil and bitterness.
It’s also the boxing training. I’m getting flashbacks of when I started with cardio kickboxing at Santa Barbara. Each time I was in class I’d leave puddles of sweat on the mats. I used to bring a towel just to wipe away the puddles. Although all the sorority girls in the studio didn’t think it was cute, I didn’t give a shit. Sweat made me feel brand new. It still makes me feel brand new. Besides, my sweat caught the attention of Abel, the to-die-for tall, dark and handsome instructor that all the sorority girls wanted. Abel and I became good friends because apparently, some guys appreciate a woman who isn’t afraid of a little hard work and sweat. (I always thought wimpy little girls at the gym were annoying, so it was nice to actually meet a guy who felt the same way.) Abel loved the fact that I wasn’t afraid to sweat and let a part of myself go in the name of a good workout. Abel used to clean my puddles for me. He could sympathize. He left puddles too.
Nothing much has changed because at the new studio, I still leave puddles and am often found wiping the river of sweat that begins on the bottom of my chin and runs down to my chest. Sometimes I feel like I’m a walking gatorade commercial. Sweat. It is in me. I’m sure folks still think it’s disgusting. I still don’t give a shit. I like Brad’s take on women and sweat: “There’s nothing sexier than going to the gym and seeing a woman wipe the sweat off her brow – not a dainty sweat – but a good, hard sweat.” Brad likes students who work hard. In the studio, there’s no point in working any other way.
I sweat a lot. When I’m boxing. When I’m running, When I’m spinning, When I’m in yoga. It cleanses me and leaves funny wet marks on my dri-fit clothing. I’m not vain in the gym. I don’t smother my face with make-up before a workout. I don’t wear cute, matching clothing either. I don’t care what I look like when I work out. I’m there to work and sweat it out. I don’t care if the other girls stare in disgust. I figure that if something that others think is disgusting, but makes me feel so brand new has to be a good thing.