Committing to exercise has been a "process" for me. I start in one place, and end up in another, with lots of adjustments in between. And really, nothing "ends;" it only changes, and then keeps changing again. With each experience, my attitude or perspective also changes, evolving in big ways, or as minute, small, adjustments, sometimes even set-backs. At times, I'm flabbergasted by my accomplishments, other times lead to disappointment, and some times I just don't know what to feel? Everything that happens along the way influences my commitment, though I cannot predict the outcomes at the start! Enough of the esoteric!
After getting through the fear of signing up for class, showing up that first day, I still had to exercise from 6:15-7:00 pm every Monday and Wednesday for three months. Stepping on the scale that first Monday, was shocking, disgusting and motivating. YIKES, I "weighed in" at the highest weight of my life! And being used to a sedentary lifestyle, I soon learned that moving this huge body was extremely painful. The instructor would individualize the exercise, pushing us to reach our own personal goals. And that is what ultimately became my biggest challenge - pushing myself.
Every workout, the instructor would challenge us to "raise the bar" on what we each were able to accomplish through exercise. This "pushing" was done with respect...and I never felt "forced" or "coerced" to follow through. Indeed, I had a schizophrenic response to the "pushing," often expressing my complete displeasure while equally making full-fledged, mostly failing, attempts to reach the goal. Each workout, I could feel my face getting red, the sweat dripping around my face and off the tip of my chin. The neckline and sleeves of my workout clothes became soaked with sweat, and my hair was drenched... curling up and under into it's own new "shape." Beads of my sweat dripped from one end of the gymnasium to the other, just like the crumb path left by Hansel and Gretel to find their way home. I would hobble out to my car, leaving the exercise session with leg and torso pain. I would collapse at home...immobilized...and yet wanting to move so that it wasn't even more painful when I stood up.
Each day was different and my learning curve slow. In these early days, most of my learning centered on "pain." Some days I would return home with a pounding headache that would last for days. On occasion, I did not attend class because of "pain avoidance." I also learned to ignore other class members who joked "stop trying so hard - you're ruining it for the rest of us. He'll [the instructor] just work us harder!" I have always tried to do my best, whatever new "project" I take on. Why would I approach exercise any differently than other aspects of my life?
One day, after returning home from a particularly difficult workout session, we had a poignant family conversation around the dinner table.* I hadn't shared much about the exercise class with my family, but today my husband said "You look wiped out!" This opened the door, and for the first time I began to whine about the "severity" of my fitness class, the difficulty being a large person in a "workout" class, and complained that the instructor was "killing me." (Was I making excuses for missing classes? Who knows?) I'm usually not one to complain, but my husband, Dave, cut me off with his usual quick response "He's not killing you, he's saving your life!"
Several seconds passed before I fully grasped, comprehended his statement. That is when I experienced one very large perspective adjustment, probably the biggest perspective hiccup in my life. That is when I both lost and caught my breath.
Submitted on Monday, September 27, 2010.
* I have learned not to eat before exercise. No matter how small or big the meal, I always experience some sort of discomfort, ill feeling, dizzyness, exercise fatigue, or slowness.
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