I've been running for 6 weeks now. (There's a sentence I never thought I'd say.) Six weeks of running every twenty to thirty minutes, six days a week. My knees don't hurt any more, and I can walk down the stairs without wincing, and even if I'm not running the whole time and I'm a wheezy, gasping mess most of the time, at least the little black dots have stopped swimming in front of my eyes after a few steps. I do seem to be slowly getting better at it.
One of the reasons I took up running is to lose some weight, just a few pounds would make me happy. (Mostly, I'd love to be able to eat the way I want to eat and not have to think about it too much.) And guess how much I've lost since I started running???
Nothing. Not one pound. I'm not exaggerating in a "I've lost a few pounds but I thought I'd lose more" kind of way. No, I am exactly the same weight as when I started 6 weeks ago. I haven't lost so much as a couple of ounces. This pisses me off like you wouldn't believe. When I have ranted about this to anyone who will listen, I inevitably hear the "but muscle weighs more than fat, so you must be building up muscle" song, but they can sing that to the wad of fat around my middle that gleefully yells "bullshit" every time it comes up. Perhaps it comes with being fair, female and over 40, but I'm pretty sure that wad of fat has taken up permanent residence, and has no intention of letting a little exercise persuade it to move along any time soon.
I'll keep running. (I still have 7 weeks left in my running class, after all.) But if I don't see some improvement in my body, I'm going to be really mad. And then I'm going to run while yelling and ranting full tilt the whole time. Maybe that will burn off a few more calories.