I woke up yesterday morning with every intention of going to the gym at 7:30pm (Kings tip-off). After watching the trio of superhero shows on The CW, running errands, having lunch with my best friend, grading essays, playing with the dog, and writing for a few hours, it was 9:30. My plan of watching the first half of the Kings game at the gym was ruined. At that point, I would have only caught the last few minutes. After getting ready and stretching, it would have been nearly 10 at night before I started the work out, which would mean not getting home until after 11, and then not getting to sleep until nearly midnight. Midnight is late. Too late. Martina is gone this weekend, so no one would ever know if I decided to stay home and not work out. It was of no consequence to anyone but me. I had the final episode of the first season of Top Chef I could have watched, or after two hours of struggling to find a groove in writing, I had two solid hours of writing and I could have stuck to writing until bed. There is half-read Harry Potter book chilling on my nightstand as well. These are all things I would have rather done. Besides I have not lost any weight in two weeks, so it is not like the work outs are, you know, working.
Instead, I made myself change my clothes, put on my running shoes, and go down to the gym. I negotiated with myself that fifteen minutes was better than nothing. Sure, it wasn't the sixty minutes I normally did, but it was something.
January has been full of great work outs. Nights where I feel lighter than I ever have. Nights where I get so invigorated, I feel I can accomplish anything in the world. Last night was not one of the those nights. Last night sucked. My left thigh hurt. The wifi was not working, causing my Podcast to keep cutting out, which left me with only the television. The first few minutes were fine because I had the final two or three minutes of the Kings game. Saturday night after 10 at night, the sporting events vanish though. Not even a tennis match. I often turn a sporting event on while listening to my podcasts, but without the podcasts, I had to watch commercials, and that leads to paying attention to how much longer I have. It sucks.
But
I finished. Sixty minutes. Nothing is more rewarding than completing a work out you had no desire to do. It is easy (well, easy is relative I suppose) to get a work out in when you are motivated to do so. Completing a workout when you struggled every single second, that's the good stuff man. That is where you realize you are doing this for real. Those are the nights you learn that holding yourself accountable is enough. It is fun to post to Facebook, Twitter and Instagram. It is good to have that accountability. It adds pressure. But, if on a solo Saturday night, you drag yourself to do a workout you do not want to do, you know you actually do want to do it.
For fifty nine minutes and fifty nine seconds, I was miserable. Then, the cool down program started and I knew I had made it. Suddenly all of the misery rolled off of me with the sweat from the work out. As good as Thursday and Friday night at the gym were, Saturday was that bad. I checked the time every five minutes, filled my head with negative thoughts about how I see myself. Nearly convinced myself to just quit trying to lose weight. After twenty three days of solid working out and eating well, I am only four pounds down from where I started 2015. Maybe it is just who I am. That fear of my personality being tied to weight haunted me for like forty of the minutes on that treadmill.
Some how I managed to shove it all down and finish the work out. I am still dealing with some residual negativity and I would be lying if I said I was not haunted by a dream in which everyone I loved told me I was fat and gross and undeserving of good things, which is a real fear I wake up with at least once a week.
The goal is not weight loss. The goal is health. It is tough to measure. My body feels stronger when not in agonizing pain from working out. Mentally I am definitely healthier than I was for most of my life before I actively sought out health. I have to keep plugging away. The only way this works is if I get myself to the gym on a regular basis whether I want to be there or not.
Life is about to get even busier tomorrow as my Master's program begins. Because of my commute, 4 days a week I will leave my house slightly after six in the morning and 3 days get home at like 6:45, and 1 day I will not get home until almost 10. I cannot let myself forget how important feeling better is. Making time is the only way.
Last thought. After the Kings game ended, I turned on Diners, Drive ins, and Dives. Not sure if working out while watching it was the best idea or the worst idea, but it definitely kept me entertained.
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