I went to the gym this morning for the first time in months. When I went in, it was spritzing. When I came out, it was snowing – hard.
Yes, I went to the gym, and I think hell froze over.
I have never been an athlete, and so working out has always seemed like a necessary evil. Yoga and walking have been my most frequent workouts of choice, but the older I get, the less effect they have on my body composition. With limited time and money, I wanted more bang for my buck.
I had made numerous attempts at running, but each time, fresh out of the gate, I’d stumble, literally: a twisted ankle here, a stubbed toe there was all it took to convince me that I was not a runner. Then about three years ago, I tried again and had much better luck, eventually joining a friend’s running group. It didn’t take long before I was hooked. But soon, the inevitable: a hip injury that has had me on the sidelines for well over a year.
As I slowly rehabbed (now with physical therapist #2), I rediscovered biking. This summer my new bike and I were out on the bike path three to five days a week. I loved it. But it’s windy where I live, and lately rainy and cold, so the bike has been stowed in the shed for the season, and all I’ve been getting exercise-wise are two or three paltry walks a week.
I hate dragging myself out early on a cold, dark morning, but I feel so much better when I work out: my mood improves with my muscle tone, I feel better about myself, and that I’ve accomplished something positive. I know it’s good for my body and what’s left of my brain. And so this morning I crawled out of bed and hauled my flabby, sagging ass back to the gym.
I’m dying to get out and put in a few miles. I’m getting closer, but until I’m cleared for takeoff by my therapist, I’ll have to be content with going nowhere, fast – inside – and try to figure out how to stay motivated. Slow and steady, I think, will win this race.