Running Man?

I've always hated running.  I've hated all kinds of exercise, really.  If exercise was a byproduct of athletic activity, then I suppose I accepted it, albeit begrudgingly.  Did I choose to play goalkeeper for my high school soccer team because it involves the least amount of running?  Maybe.  I was still forced to run two miles on the first day of practice every year and every year I finished last.  I didn't care.  I just wanted the agony to end.  And so, here I sit, 35 years old and out of shape.  Out of shape is really a somewhat nice way of saying overweight, which is also a nice way of saying fat.  On a really good day, with the sunlight glistening off the pond and leprechauns sliding down rainbows, I'm 5 feet, 10 inches tall.  The ideal, healthy weight for this height is 156 pounds, with a range of 139-173 pounds, according to something called the Hamwi formula, which I'm too fat to understand.  My current weight is 228 pounds.  This means that my Body Mass Index is 32.7.  Anything over 30 is considered obese. Something must be done. 
These aren't recent facts, either.  In the past two years, I've gone from a size 36 waist to a size 38, but I had been a size 36 for probably 10 years before that.  I often rationalize that I don't think I look terribly fat, and that I have tons of naturally sculpted muscle, which weighs WAY more than fat.  And I'm big boned.  Hugely and incalculably boned.  So, why now?  Why not maintain the status quo, sinking into middle age like so many before me?  It's not vanity.   I don't really care what anyone else thinks of my body; that's one of the perks of being married, right?  I'd like to say that I am deeply concerned for my health and that I am shaping up so that I can be around a long time to see my daughter grow up and see her children grow up, but that's probably more foresighted than I'm capable of.  More than anything else, I'm just annoyed.  I'm annoyed that the corners I used to turn with such grace and guile now clip a piece of my hip.  I'm annoyed that I'm out of breath when I climb a flight of stairs.  But, most of all, I'm annoyed that the Banana Republic in my neighborhood doesn't have my size pants because, along with that 38 inch waist, I am also blessed with a 30 in the length department.  I gave up on getting taller long ago.  All I have control over is getting skinnier.
In my typically vague way, I have pledged in the past to do something about it.  I tried dieting, which consisted of tuna salad sandwiches for lunch instead of roast beef and cheese, and keeping less beer in the house.  I don't think that really counts as a diet.  That didn't work, so I tried an equally vague form of exercise, inevitably dumping hundreds of dollars on gyms I never go to.  I joined the Y because of its swimming pool and basketball court, thinking I would enjoy exercise more if it were disguised as sport.  I was wrong.  Swimming was exhausting and shooting jumpers ain't exercise, even if I did have to chase my airballs all over the gym.  Last year, I was so inspired by the New York City marathon that I spent half a day calculating the training distances between my place and my friends' places, fantasizing of the 15 mile jaunt to Long Island City and back and the 25 mile roundtripper to Washington Heights.  And then I did nothing.  Maybe I ran around the block once, if that.  But, this time is different.  This time, I have a plan.  It's called the Couch to 5K program, which was brought to my attention by my wife, who had heard about it from a friend.  The theory is this: people who are suddenly inspired to run, but have no idea what they're doing, often get frustrated and/or hurt and quit easily.  This program, which has an app that chimes in commands ("Start running") during your likely embarrassing running mix if you're into that kind of thing, is designed to gradually bring a couch potato up to speed, 3 days a week at around 30 minutes a pop, so that at the end of 8 weeks, you can run 5 kilometers (approximately 3 miles).  I've never run 3 miles at one in my life.  This would be huge.
My commitment to the Couch to 5K program is partly borne out of my epiphany that I love to eat more than I hate exercise and so, given the choice between diet and exercise, I choose exercise.  What's that you say?  I could choose both?  Sorry, you're breaking up.  I'll call you back.  I am currently in Week 2.  Week 1 regimen consisted of a 5 minute brisk warm up walk, followed by alternating shifts of 60 seconds of running and 90 seconds of walking, finally cooling down with another 5 minute walk.  Day One was awesome.  Definitely felt like I could do this.  Couldn't wait for Day Two, but I stuck to the program, skipping a day in between.  Day Two was a little harder.  Why?  Was I less enthusiastic about my plan?  Was the whole running thing too big an obstacle to overcome, both physically and mentally?  Day Three wasn't much fun, but I was also sick.  Still sick, I did a slightly abbreviated Day One of Week Two today.  5 minute walk, followed by intervals of 90 seconds of running and 2 minutes of walking, and the 5 minute cool-down walk.
My random goal before learning 10 minutes ago that I am technically obese was to get under 200 pounds.  Now, that is at least 25 pounds off target.  I need to stick with the program.  I need to lose weight.  I'm sure there are cardiovascular health benefits, as well.  I would like to learn to enjoy running, and the fact that it's only 30 minutes certainly helps.  Nothing seems like a bigger waste of time than two hours at a gym or a two hour run.  This way, I get up at 6:00 a.m., roll out the door around 6:15, and get home by 6:45 in order to pick my daughter out of her crib, who now either asks me "How was your run, Daddy?" or "How was your shower this morning?"  I tell her the run was fine and the shower was too hot and eventually I stop sweating around 10:30 a.m.  But, if I start enjoying running?  If I not only run 5K, but also enter 5K charity "races"?  If I become an athlete again?  Or athletic, at least?  If I lost 50 pounds?  I'd be a lot less annoyed, which I guess is a nice way of saying happy.