The challenge is fresh! Off to the gym! There I was, 4 days after New Year's, in a Qwik Core class with 50 other well-intentioned folks (it seemed like 50, anyway, some obvious devotees and others, well....more like me) when it occurred to me that I just might be in one of Dante's levels of hell. Under bright florescent lights with a whole lot of sweaty strangers, club music blaring (it was 8:45am), the clip of the instructor's voice booming over her mike in a quick 8-7-6-5-4-and-eight-more! staccato, I felt physically assaulted. Literally. Bombarded by noise, and light, and frantic energy. Even worse, as soon as I decided what I was feeling, I decided I was old. What happened to the days where some part of me rose up through the reluctance and got, well, into it?
The whole point of taking the class, of being at the gym, was to be more in my body, which I love, and miss. To be stronger, more fit, feeling better. As I lay on the mat in the booming room (I'm pretty sure the floor was moving to the beat) I realized I'd confused being old with being tired. Why put myself through this hell one second longer? What was the cost of whipping my abs into shape?
I fled the class and went up to the Pilates area, with it's low lights and mats, where I just stretched, and breathed, and relaxed. And surprise, a few minutes later, I actually wanted to get on the elliptical machine and sweat a little. And lo and behold, 8 minutes into jogging away, it happened: An old song came on, something I used to run to in college, and the joy bubbled up. It felt good to be moving hard, breathing hard, lungs tight. It felt more than good. It felt amazing. For about 2 minutes, I had the joy back. For 2 minutes, the fatigue fell away. I looked out the window at the Bridger Mountains, thought about skiing, and worked my butt off. For a girl who 3 years ago, couldn't do anything intense enough to work up a sweat without searing pain in my back, it was like a promise.
From now on, there's no agenda at the gym for me. I've always felt so much pressure to do something at the gym, to work out hard, to make it count; even when all I could do was physical therapy exercises. And being too exhausted to make it to the gym a certain number of times each week (one? two? - it's not like I was trying to get there everyday, even) just made me feel guilty. Of course, I have an extra 10 pounds as a result, plus the fact that the 70 year old man on the elliptical next to me this morning showed me up bigtime. That plan - the same gym plan everyone I know is on - doesn't work for me. Not in the big picture. But still, I want to be strong. I want to feel strong. What to do?
Something different. For this year, I'm just going to focus on getting into the gym, only when my body wants to go (lately it likes to go when I'm stiff and creaky). Once I'm there I'll let my body tell me what it wants to do, and I don't care what it is. I don't care if I do nothing more than stretch. If I'm going to live in my body, I'm going to start with listening to it. Of course, I still don't have the time - that hasn't changed. But I'm going to shake up my idea of what needs to get done in a day. I'm going to make the things that feed my soul come first, and just see if the whole juggling act I call my life comes crashing down as a result. Because maybe it won't. Maybe I'll wind up more energized and happier. Maybe falling backwards will be the best thing that ever happened to me. What if I actually get stronger and leaner with this approach than I have in the past, pushing myself? Wouldn't that be a kick?
