I'm pretty sure exercise isn't supposed to make you cry. I'm just sayin'.
Okay, so I didn't cry. This time. But I wanted to. That and I wanted to throw up. Well, not that I wanted to throw up, but you know what I mean.
Exercise and I have never quite become BFF's. Oh, we're friendly and all—don't get me wrong. But believe me—I'd ditch working out in a heartbeat for reading a book or going out to dinner or even taking a hike, literally. The minute I get a better offer, all previous plans are considered null and void.
So it's not unusual for me to not like working out. It's also not unusual for me to avoid it for as long as possible. But what has been unusual these last two weeks has been both my sheer dread of exercising and my complete lack of energy and will power to do so. I just don't have it in me. And I don't know why.
For a month I was truckin' along with Jillian Michaels and her 30 Day Shred
DVD. I was feeling strong, feeling energetic, feeling optimistic. I didn't LIKE it, but I wasn't dying. Not much, at least. But something has completely wiped me off my feet here lately, and I barely have it in me to finish my 3-4 mile walk, let alone get my butt kicked by "TV's Toughest Trainer." This doesn't bode well for trying to get Stripped, Shredded, or Slenderized.
Mostly what it does is make me feel discouraged and a little weepy, especially toward the end of a work-out, when there are still 50,000 crunches to go and I feel like I'm going to hurl already and I just want to lay on the floor and not move. But I have to move—I have no choice but to move. And that creates dissonance in my spirit.
I wish I could learn to love this path. I wish I enjoyed protein and veggies more than anything made from a grain. I wish I would rather lift weights and crank my metabolism with some interval training than stroll through the woods or read a good book. Or even a mediocre book. But I don't love these things. I've made peace with them, but that's just not the same.
I don't know yet what to do with this dissonance. I have peace, but, because I don't love it, I need discipline. I don't always have discipline. So I need motivation. I don't always have motivation, either. And frankly, what motivates me typically is FEAR, and that is in conflict with peace. In the end, I'd much rather have JOY in it all. But I'm just not there yet.
And I'm not sure what the path in that direction looks like.
I will continue ramping back up, yet again. I will fight and scratch and claw back to my previous level of fitness, only to have something else derail me, yet again. I suppose this is life. But that doesn't mean I have to like it. In the mean time, tomorrow is a rest day, by virtue of the fact that I work 13 hours. So I will give my body a rest, and then drag my fanny back in front of the TV on Friday, hopefully ready and raring to go.
And if it's not ready and raring, well, it will just have to hang in there and bear through the ride.
Okay, so I didn't cry. This time. But I wanted to. That and I wanted to throw up. Well, not that I wanted to throw up, but you know what I mean.
Exercise and I have never quite become BFF's. Oh, we're friendly and all—don't get me wrong. But believe me—I'd ditch working out in a heartbeat for reading a book or going out to dinner or even taking a hike, literally. The minute I get a better offer, all previous plans are considered null and void.
So it's not unusual for me to not like working out. It's also not unusual for me to avoid it for as long as possible. But what has been unusual these last two weeks has been both my sheer dread of exercising and my complete lack of energy and will power to do so. I just don't have it in me. And I don't know why.
For a month I was truckin' along with Jillian Michaels and her 30 Day Shred
DVD. I was feeling strong, feeling energetic, feeling optimistic. I didn't LIKE it, but I wasn't dying. Not much, at least. But something has completely wiped me off my feet here lately, and I barely have it in me to finish my 3-4 mile walk, let alone get my butt kicked by "TV's Toughest Trainer." This doesn't bode well for trying to get Stripped, Shredded, or Slenderized. Mostly what it does is make me feel discouraged and a little weepy, especially toward the end of a work-out, when there are still 50,000 crunches to go and I feel like I'm going to hurl already and I just want to lay on the floor and not move. But I have to move—I have no choice but to move. And that creates dissonance in my spirit.
I wish I could learn to love this path. I wish I enjoyed protein and veggies more than anything made from a grain. I wish I would rather lift weights and crank my metabolism with some interval training than stroll through the woods or read a good book. Or even a mediocre book. But I don't love these things. I've made peace with them, but that's just not the same.
I don't know yet what to do with this dissonance. I have peace, but, because I don't love it, I need discipline. I don't always have discipline. So I need motivation. I don't always have motivation, either. And frankly, what motivates me typically is FEAR, and that is in conflict with peace. In the end, I'd much rather have JOY in it all. But I'm just not there yet.
And I'm not sure what the path in that direction looks like.
I will continue ramping back up, yet again. I will fight and scratch and claw back to my previous level of fitness, only to have something else derail me, yet again. I suppose this is life. But that doesn't mean I have to like it. In the mean time, tomorrow is a rest day, by virtue of the fact that I work 13 hours. So I will give my body a rest, and then drag my fanny back in front of the TV on Friday, hopefully ready and raring to go.
And if it's not ready and raring, well, it will just have to hang in there and bear through the ride.
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