Recently our family moved from a town in Saskatchewan to Alberta, going from being (almost) happily stranded 45 minutes out of town to living downtown, 5 minutes away from a grocery store, cafe, tea house, library, and, both fortunately and unfortunately, a gym.

Thus, time away from the little apartment that houses two adults, two teens, and two dogs was scheduled into each person's day, and the first activity of each day just so happens to be...

Exercising at the gym.

Now, I could complain, but I'd still have to spend my hour on a cardio machine and some time in the weight room, and complaining will merely make my already addled mind (a phrase which may easily be understood if anyone reads my inevitable essays on villains and murder in the future) more addled, so instead of that, I will continue telling my story.

Yes, I promise it is a story.

Instead of complaining, I will truthfully admit that the gym is, aside from sleeping or visiting Everything Tea, my favorite part of the day. I feel better after exercising than I do after eating, pouring back three to four bottles of water a day, or even sipping a tea while reading, writing, or working on a book report.

But I wasn't feeling so great about a month and a half ago, when I was running on shin splints with my heart rate approaching 180 and getting off the treadmill drenched in sweat with my face the color of a plum.

For someone who has in the past researched health in their spare time (though in my own defense, I have only just looked into running, heart rates, and injuries in exercise), this is just slightly embarrassing.

My father, as the good man he is who cares about his family, had told me back in Saskatchewan to start running on the treadmill, and so I did, despite some grumbling. Naturally, though, once I did as he said, I found that it...actually...wasn't too bad. I started off at an easy warm up, run one minute, walk four, repeat three more times, cool down. By the time we moved, I was at run for three minutes, walk for two.

We took a week to settle in.

And then I started back into it, not only at run four, walk one, but at a speed that was far too high.

Why would I do such a thing? Not the increase after a week, I know why I did that: It's only a week, it shouldn't make a difference, I can run four. But why would I also increase the speed?

Well... I looked at a chart and thought that it said your heart rate should be at 200 when you exercise.

This, I'm only realizing now, as I write, is the source of my embarrassment. I am not one to read something and take it as fact without looking at another source, especially if I'm not 100% certain that I'm reading it correctly. But this time, I misread the chart, accepted it as fact even when it didn't seem right, and then didn't double-check.

This is a laziness on my part that has been repeated in multiple other facets of my life: Accepting something as fact without asking,

Why?

How?

When, where and who says so?

This is a change that has occurred in me of late. I don't know how it came about, I don't know why I let it happen or if I even saw it as it was happening. But I know that I don't like it.

So this is my blog. You're free to read it, enjoy it, and laugh with me. I have nothing to teach anyone else: I am writing to articulate what I am learning myself, and I need a place to put those lessons and thoughts. 

And hey, if someone else can learn something from my mishaps, I'll be happy to hear what they have to say!