I've been getting swept up by the Zone 2 cardio trend recently. I didn't even look in depth on what the benefits are for my body, but I know that cardio is good, and I haven't done it consistently since the lockdown. Plus, 30-45 minutes of light jogging (enough hold a conversation) was not daunting. I decided to do 30 minutes of cardio on hypertrophy training days, and 2 additional days a week where I do an hour of cardio.

Yesterday I did 30 minutes without a hitch.

Today, I started my session with a sense of ease; my body didn't feel tired after yesterday's session. 30 minutes went by relatively quickly, but it sunk in that I'm only half-way there. {30 minutes should be good, you just started cardio again!} The clock increments at a snail's pace. I consider turning on the TV in front of me, but I am reminded of a chemical burn; I am Jack's inflated sense of pride. I start employing strategies to stop obsessing about time. {45 minutes! Isn't that enough?} One of them is to absent-mindedly stare at a socket in the wall. Another is to start focusing on my breath, and slow it down. {Your shoe lace is untied} Eventually I start counting my breaths, and look at the clock after every 60 breaths. {Wow your right knee feels funny huh?} I look at the people around me, clueless about the war unfolding before them. {Do you feel that blister on your foot?}

The last minute wasn't easy. My legs feel numb. The clock doesn't tick fast enough. I have no energy to celebrate. But I acknowledge my small triumph. I think about how I'd be doing this again tomorrow.