If I Can Love Training YOU Can Love It Too!
I've always had a strangely ambivalent sense of discipline. I can be ruthlessly unyielding about some things and quite dismissive about others. When it came to exercise it took me a long time to reach that level of obsession I can exhibit when I undertake something I am determined to succeed at. When I was overweight working out just dragged me down, physically and mentally. I can't stand to do anything I know I am not good at and physical training would beat me up with my limitations.
I think back to my feeble attempts at what I thought passed for exercise in the early days after my surgery: A walk around the block. Ten minutes on a recumbent stairmachine. My mindset told me I was not athletic. I was clumsy. I was the fat sixth grader who dreaded gym class. I was the dumpy college student who spent four years working at circumventing the University of Florida's one credit hour phys ed requirement.
I will admit I did not become more receptive to physical training until I had lost a substantial amount of my weight. It was just so much easier to do EVERYTHING. As soon as I could afford it I started working with a trainer and I turned the corner. The discovery of how my body responded was staggering to me. My physical limits felt challenging instead of restricting.
It started with taking very long walks. Miles and miles. I would feel overwhelmed with a sense of total liberation that I could keep going, knowing with complete confidence that no matter how far I went I was going to be able to get myself home.
I have an addictive mind. I kept wanting more. I wanted to work out in more different ways and more frequently. I was able to reach a level of conditioning and endorphin release that allowed me to feel a thrill at pushing myself harder and harder.
My afternoon today was what I live for now. My trainer worked me so hard I've been shaky for hours. She pushed me through a solid hour of circuit-style training: One minute each at a variety of exercises with only the setup time to rest in between. I got so tired I kept feeling my form trying to deteriorate. When that happens I just focus--work slower and concentrate harder. I welcome the onset of failure and the feeling of my body trying to refuse to perform one...more...rep. I might let up slightly, just enough to be able to force out that one more.
I love what my trainer makes me do. Stuff like abs work with a 25lb weight plate on my stomach. Dragging a "sled" loaded up with plates all around the gym. Take it like a man: No girl push ups allowed.
I love to walk after my personal training sessions. Today in Chicago was still in the teens but sunny and very dry out. I walked about a mile and a half to a stop for a bus that would drop me at my front door. I probably stumbled about half the way like a punch-drunk boxer but I had this feeling that I just had to keep moving. Once on the bus I felt myself stiffen up and I became restless. I got off the bus a couple of stops early and walked it off. I felt my limbs obediently loosen and stretch. I quickened my pace to walk as fast as I could. Wrapped up in a sense of contentment.
I think back to my feeble attempts at what I thought passed for exercise in the early days after my surgery: A walk around the block. Ten minutes on a recumbent stairmachine. My mindset told me I was not athletic. I was clumsy. I was the fat sixth grader who dreaded gym class. I was the dumpy college student who spent four years working at circumventing the University of Florida's one credit hour phys ed requirement.
I will admit I did not become more receptive to physical training until I had lost a substantial amount of my weight. It was just so much easier to do EVERYTHING. As soon as I could afford it I started working with a trainer and I turned the corner. The discovery of how my body responded was staggering to me. My physical limits felt challenging instead of restricting.
It started with taking very long walks. Miles and miles. I would feel overwhelmed with a sense of total liberation that I could keep going, knowing with complete confidence that no matter how far I went I was going to be able to get myself home.
I have an addictive mind. I kept wanting more. I wanted to work out in more different ways and more frequently. I was able to reach a level of conditioning and endorphin release that allowed me to feel a thrill at pushing myself harder and harder.
My afternoon today was what I live for now. My trainer worked me so hard I've been shaky for hours. She pushed me through a solid hour of circuit-style training: One minute each at a variety of exercises with only the setup time to rest in between. I got so tired I kept feeling my form trying to deteriorate. When that happens I just focus--work slower and concentrate harder. I welcome the onset of failure and the feeling of my body trying to refuse to perform one...more...rep. I might let up slightly, just enough to be able to force out that one more.
I love what my trainer makes me do. Stuff like abs work with a 25lb weight plate on my stomach. Dragging a "sled" loaded up with plates all around the gym. Take it like a man: No girl push ups allowed.
I love to walk after my personal training sessions. Today in Chicago was still in the teens but sunny and very dry out. I walked about a mile and a half to a stop for a bus that would drop me at my front door. I probably stumbled about half the way like a punch-drunk boxer but I had this feeling that I just had to keep moving. Once on the bus I felt myself stiffen up and I became restless. I got off the bus a couple of stops early and walked it off. I felt my limbs obediently loosen and stretch. I quickened my pace to walk as fast as I could. Wrapped up in a sense of contentment.
posted by Dagny at
7:49 PM
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