For several months near the end of last year, I fell into an incredible workout groove, working out consistently, making great progress, dropping weight, getting stronger. I ran my longest distance (14 miles) and felt like I was really on my way to reaching several major goals.
I fell flat on my face so hard that I left a crater in the floor (figuratively, of course). House hunting, then packing, then moving, then holidays, then being sick…well, let’s just say all of the above served as wonderfully convenient excuses to skip workouts for a day, two days…hell, three months, but who’s counting?
Let’s not even talk about how much weight I’ve managed to gain since then, since logical thoughts like “I didn’t work out today, so I may as well eat enough for a small village of famished dinosaurs” actually made sense for longer than you would think. Okay, still does. Don’t judge me.
Last night I wanted to work out about as much as I wanted to stroll naked through a cactus garden, but I had decided enough was enough! Time to get back to it.
Ever work out after being so far off the wagon that you need GPS and a tour guide to even find it again? Yeah, it’s a lot of fun, especially if you’ve gained a ton of weight while you were busy waving good-bye to that damned wagon.
As soon as I started marching in place for the warm-up, I gawked down curiously at my body, wondering why it felt so different. Oh yeah, because I now had the equivalent of a small child clinging to me in extra weight. I felt it with every step, every movement, every gesture that consisted of anything more than standing still and cursing at the workout DVD (I don’t deny or confirm that such actions ever took place, by the way).
I got grumpy. Very. I didn’t want to be working out. There was a perfectly good couch going to waste at that very moment. I was not enjoying even one millisecond of that stupid, asinine workout. Go march forward yourself, you evil, sadistic, horrible woman, I thought to Little Miss Purple Workout Top Instructor Ridiculously Full of Energy. March straight to hell! Take your fancy sneakers and your cute little dumbbells with you!
You are supposed to feel satisfied and proud after a workout, patting yourself on the back for a job well done while you sip your refreshing water, towel off, and decide from where you are ordering pizza. Well, maybe not that last part. I didn’t feel satisfied or proud at all. I hated how the workout shoved into my face, loud and clear and rather rudely, how out of shape I have let myself become.
Unfortunately, there’s only one way through that, and that is working out again. Then again. There’s no other way. I have to do it. It’s going to be a long, maddening process, moving from hating my workouts to feeling like I am making progress and actually wanting to do it, but I have taken the first painful step and shouldn’t stop now.
It’s going to be a long, hard road. It’s going to be worth it.