For the first time in 2 months, I am calm. I can sit without my phone, without a running to-do list compulsively swirling madly around my head and just be. I can take honest stock that everything is fine exactly as it is, and it is turning out to be finer than I thought it would be too.
Yes, I’ve been sitting for 2 months now, but I haven’t been calm. I haven’t felt grounded or centered and I’ve always felt like I should be doing something (that I couldn’t really do). I’ve felt a building urgency of to-do’s, most being hurled at Mike when he got home, because all I could do was stare at them all day and not execute. I’d never gotten such an upfront glimpse of my mom’s reality with dad until now. It isn’t personal that we assault you with our household needs as soon as you wake up or when you get home. We can’t do it ourselves and it’s all we can think about all day because there’s nothing else to do.
One workout. One heart pumping, 22-minute airdyne workout and I feel like Alison again. Yes, I’ve been training what I can at home (salute to still being able to rep overhand pull-ups and inverted rows!), but it’s not the same. It’s especially not the same when you’re used to taking the edge off by running, and you’re running Ultra kind of fit. And today we got to go take the edge off.
Today I got cleared to stand, walk and do whatever I want (verbatim from my surgeon) in my boot. So naturally we went to the grocery store where I learned how to walk again, and then we went to the gym. My excited teenage brain was so high I was intending to tackle every body part on every machine, but thankfully my wiser mid-30’s brain and PT got the better of me. Hips, planks and Tabata. And I forgot.
I forgot about the mental health side of physical fitness. I forgot about the natural endorphins and relaxation that is possible when we move our bodies the way they were intended to move. I forgot about my ability to be able to withstand the urgency I’ve felt for 2 months. I forgot about my ability to sit still with my anxiety that’s been racking my brain for 2 months.
We are supposed to work hard. We are supposed to raise our heart rate. We are supposed to sweat. We are supposed to push it.
Yes, it was hard. I knew immediately how people feel when they’re out of shape and hating every second of what feels too hard to sustain. I knew immediately how people feel when they’re trying to change their habits and get healthy, but their bodies fight them. I knew immediately how people feel when they start running, so envious of those that can run for hours and hours and hours with seemingly no issue whatsoever, hating the beginning process.
Right now, I am you. I was once you before, but I had forgotten that experience because it seems so far away. I wasn’t always super fit and aerobically capable. I wasn’t always healthy. I didn’t always love running because I couldn’t always run! I wasn’t always adapted and efficient. And so right now, temporarily, I’m not. And it’s OK. I got to move today! I got to stand, walk through the grocery store and pick out my own groceries. I got to carry the groceries. I got to walk up and down the stairs awkwardly, but I got to do it with both of my feet and without hopping. I got to do planks on all planes with both feet. I got to bike awkwardly and make my lungs hurt and my legs burn. I got to torch my shoulders and appreciate the human body for its resiliency and natural want to protect itself.
And I was reminded again of my greatest passion. If you don’t move, please start. You do not have to set out goals for anything competitive, any certain length or even anything hard at all, but your body and your brain are begging you to go for a ride somewhere outside the comfort of what you know right now. Your body and your brain are begging you to challenge them and release the hormones under the surface to even out the edges, edges you may not know you have.
Starting is not the hardest part, which is what I used to think. Continuing is much harder. Sustaining is much harder. Persevering even when it sucks, especially when it sucks, is much harder. Going back when everything is tight and sore and crying is much harder. But going back again when it loosens up a bit is when the magic happens, because you start to realize that everything really is temporary. Every pain, every sore, every tight spot and unyielding joint is temporary. And it gets better, easier, softer, kinder. And then it feels fucking great.
If I can get back there, you can start going. If I can be kind and happy and appreciate of what I have and not what I’ve “lost”, you can grab a hold and come along with me.
Actually, how cool if you just came with me so I could give you a high five. That still is my favorite gym exercise – appreciating you for showing up and grinning down and grinding. You will thank you.