Tonight I felt like I was physically dragging myself to get to the gym. I didn’t sleep well last night. Today, I ate a fair amount of food that would fall into the “garbage” category, AND it was kind of a weird day all around. I felt “off” for most of the day, and it seemed like nothing could snap me out of it.

But I went to the gym because I e-mailed my trainer on Monday morning to tell him that I was missing Monday night. I might have signed off, “See you Tuesday!” I do things like that on purpose. I hate to break my word, even something as simple as saying that I will see my trainer on Tuesday is like a promise to me.

And I didn’t break my word. I dragged myself there, feeling antsy the whole time, nervous at the lack of soreness in my body – realizing as I walked that I had better enjoy it, because it might very well be the only non-sore walk to the gym that I have all week.

When I walked in to class, my trainer was writing the workout on the board. I saw the number 50. Then I saw it again. And again. And, yes, again. When it was up, I walked closer to get a good look at it.

50 push-ups (wall)
50 toe to bar (v-ups)
50 burpees with box jump (BW squats)
50 weighted situps (no weight)
1 mile (~15 laps)

This was a workout for time, meaning the goal is to get it done in a timely manner. I panicked when I saw this list, and I quickly realized that I would be living in parentheses land this evening. Those were the modifications for people like me (OK, for me, since I am the only person in the class at what I would consider a “remedial” fitness level).

Here is what went through my mind:

“I know I can do SOME wall push-ups, but there is no way I can do 50. And v-ups! 50?! Ow.

Now, there is NO WAY I can do 50 body weight squats! I almost threw up from doing 10 wall squats a week ago!

And forget about 50 situps. I can’t even do ONE!

This is going to be humiliating, and to top it off, we are probably supposed to RUN a mile. Hello, presidential fitness test flashback. Still just as out of shape as I was in high school, probably more!

Well, let’s get this spectacle started, and hope I don’t cry in front of these people for being such a failure.”

It’s not easy for me to put my self-talk on display like this. I look at it now and know it’s wrong. Not just on principle, but in reality.

I DID do the workout tonight. It was not a spectacle.

I DID do 50 wall push-ups, and my trainer stopped by twice to tell me how good they were looking. I DID do 50 v-ups. I also did 50 body weight squats. And for the weighted situps, my trainer came by and told me to do 50 crunches instead.

And then, I did do the mile. I didn’t run it. I jogged parts, speedwalked parts, normal walked parts.

And, for being someone at a remedial fitness level, I only finished a couple of minutes behind another girl in the class. Not half an hour, like I feared.

I know it’s just fear that makes me think things like that about myself. I have had many bad public experiences with exercise in my life. I have ALWAYS been the fat kid, and I mean, always. I wasn’t just fat, but uncoordinated. I mean, you didn’t want me on your team, and that’s all there was to it. I just waited to be picked last, every time. It’s my default. Stay out of the way of the fit people, the athletes, the thin people.

But I’m not a kid anymore. That thinking doesn’t serve me at all, here and now, today. It just makes me afraid to do a challenging workout in front of other people who aren’t even close to being considered fat.

I want to be on my own side, not psyching myself out and making myself anxious. I want to be a friend to myself – encouraging, supportive, and saying, “hey – just try it out! you never know what might happen.”

I was thinking about all of this after the workout. How I surprised myself. How maybe I am not a completely lost cause, maybe one day I actually will do a push-up. How maybe I need to use my power with words for healing and strengthening myself, rather than cutting myself down.

And then this e-mail came through on my phone, from my trainer:

“Just wanted to reinforce how great you did tonight. I can already see a lot of improvement. Rest up. Tomorrow is an easy active recovery day.”

 

 

Steps today: 11680

Because I’ve turned into such a puny weakling, this week’s workouts have left me limping, wincing, and keeping my body full of the maximum recommended dose of Ibuprofen.

Tonight, the workout in class was a strength workout. We practiced push presses with sticks, bars, and kettlebells. By the time the workout started, my trainer had ascertained that there was no way in heaven or on earth that I was going to press the 45-pound bar. He had to spot me so I could do three reps. And by spot me, I mean lift the bar and just let me pretend I was lifting it.

So I was not too thrilled to see that the workout would involve me pressing two 8kg kettlebells. If you’ve met me, you know I have wrists that appear to be snappable. Probably not a word, but they are tiny and disproportionately thin when you see the rest of my body.

I learned how to do a clean, which is how I was supposed to get the kettlebell off the floor and in rack position, which is where the press starts. After watching me try the clean, my trainer told me I could get the kettlebells up “however you can.” So each wrist was holding up an 8kg kettlebell, which was resting on my forearm just below my outer wrist. And then I pressed a few times, rested, and repeated for five sets.

What I’m trying to tell you is that I’m going to have bruises. Big ones. On both arms. And I possibly won’t be able to type tomorrow, which should make work interesting.

But tonight was my workout Friday. My trainer said, at the end of class, that he would put a WOD up on the board tomorrow morning if any of us wanted to do it over the weekend. “Unless you need the rest,” he said. And then, looking at me, “and you need the rest, so I want you to take all three days off.”

Music to my ears.

Steps today: 9645

I went to my second class tonight. It was great. I worked hard, I sweat buckets, I felt good. My trainer watches us work out as we go and looks for modifications. What I like is that he can tell when I’m getting to the point of not being able to continue. Tonight, on the third of five sets, he had me halve the lunges, walk it out, and hop on the rowing machine for 4 minutes.

I would rather stop early than go too far and never want to go back.

On the way home tonight, I cut across a parking lot that I always cut through on the way home, and then I crossed to a sidewalk that goes up a few stairs and continues to the road. Without thinking, when I got to the stairs, I started to trot up them like I normally do… and stopped, abruptly. I was startled because my quads are just refusing to do any more than the bare minimum outside of my workouts. I couldn’t stair. I had to wince and mince my way up those four tiny stairs, and I may or may not have yelled at my trainer while laughing uncontrollably at myself.

I’m not kidding when I tell you that I started using the handicap-accessible restroom at work today.

The toilet is higher.

I am handicapped.

For now.  Soon, I will be strong, and my quads will be sneaking out in the night to fight crime and save babies and old ladies.

But for now, I cry out in pain whenever I sit.

And then again when I stand.

 

 

PS: I decided to start wearing my pedometer again when I can. steps today: 12905.

So, it begins today. I am officially at war with the last 100 pounds.

I went to the gym tonight and when I walked out I said, “see you tomorrow” to my trainer.

I didn’t feel like I could do this on my own. I was tired of counting exchanges, points, or calories. I couldn’t force myself to do a workout. Not even one. My diet was abysmal, my energy levels were low, and I felt terrible about myself. I started gaining back some of the first 100, which was absolutely NOT OK with me.

So I made an appointment with a trainer when I got back from my big Colorado trip. More on that later, and why that was my line in the sand – the point after which I knew I had to get serious.

I didn’t blog much about the first 100. I was afraid, I thought nobody wanted to read it, I thought nobody would relate, and I was embarrassed. I realize now that anyone with eyes knows I have a substantial amount of weight to lose. So, I hope you don’t mind if, for a time, I indulge myself and imagine that writing in this blog will hold me more accountable.

Tonight I went to a cross-training 101 class. I started to learn my way around some very tiny kettlebells. My wrists felt like they might snap, but I did what I had to do. I did more wall squats than I have done in my entire life, combined – and I almost threw up because of it. My trainer actually stopped the workout even though I was about to start my final set. I felt awful. I felt embarrassed.

I remembered that, as recently as February, I was feeling strong during my P90X workouts, and tonight I could hardly keep my form during wall squats and wall pushups. I felt like someone who had never exercised a day in her life.

Well, now I have. tomorrow will make two.  The last hundred are going down.

Hard.