Monday, November 21, 2011

Stupid bastard of a heart rate monitor


We were away all weekend again so no exercise then, but I have calculated that I can still earn my November exercise charm if I exercise 9 days out of the final 10 (including yesterday and today, which I have). I'll just take Sunday off and exercise every other day. The weekend away was filled with party food and junk while travelling but my weight remains stable, 79.0 kg on Saturday and 79.2 kg on Monday -- no official Sunday weigh-in again. It is the last weekend away until Christmas, but we still have various parties coming up in Canberra so more food challanges there.

Yesterday I did BodyPump with my heavier weights and it went well. Today I took on the lake again. We'd had a heat wave at the end of last week but today it is cool and cloudy again despite being only a week until summer; it wasn't actually raining so great weather for a jog. My two goals were to beat last week's PB of 56 minutes and to run/jog 10 times, longer each time than last week. Previously each jog had been about 50 paces long or less -- I call a pace a step on each foot and guesstimate it to be about a metre but I would love to get an accurate measurement of this -- today I went for 70 paces each time. I found this really pushed me and I walked more slowly than I liked in between while I recovered. By number seven -- up the slope of the second bridge, with my shins starting to hurt (they weren't as bad as last Thursday) -- I seriously considered giving up at 50 paces but no! I kept going to 70.

I did my 10, then realised it was going to be a close thing as to whether I made it under 56 mins and beat my previous time. Up until that point I had been fairly sure I wasn't going to make it; but I had about 4 mins left and not far to go. My heart rate was still up but I pushed into a jog again. My body reacted much more than any previous jog; I could feel my face going red and hot, and my heart rate leaped up over 160. I made 70 paces and slowed again. Walked as fast as I could. With about 30 seconds to go I threw myself forward again. 40 paces and I was at the finish line. I stopped the timer in an unseeing haze of fatigue and the display immediately went back to time and date. Had I been just over or just under 56 minutes? I staggered up to the car and got out my notebook to write down my stats, before I had even had a drink.

And pressed the wrong button. It started timing me again. Muttering "no, no!" in horror, I stopped the timer. But too late. The monitor only shows you the last exercise session, which was now about 3 seconds of me standing there panicking.

I don't know my time. Or how many calories I burned. Or what percentage I spent in the cardio zone. Or anything. I wanted to cry.

I know it's silly, but it felt as though that hour of exercise, all that effort, had been wiped away with the loss of the stats. As though it was all wasted. Of course it wasn't. My body still got the exercise.

Whether I was just over or just under 56 mins, I presumably beat my previous PB by half a minute or so -- I didn't write down my exact time down to the second last time but it must have been over 56 mins. So a good effort. Especially since there was some work being done on the path and I had to go round and went the wrong way and had to double back. Another minute or so right there.

Stupid bastard heart rate monitor.

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