Okay, I admit it. It's been 8 weeks and 2 days since I last stepped foot into the gym. How crazy is that? I mean, we're talking going from spending almost an hour a day, six days a week there to nothing. Nada. Zippo.
And for the last two weeks, my body has been giving me some not-so-subtle hints about being a giant slug. I've tried ignoring it, but with my body being the size that it is, it's kinda hard to ignore.
It hasn't been just my body that made me realize that I need to get back to a regular exercise routine. Oh, no. There was the point last week when a friend pointed out to me that the last time she saw me (pre-unemployment), I seemed happy, had lots of energy and was looking healthy. The day we were together - not so much. She said I looked like the miserable, out of shape person I was a year ago when I started my exercise journey...
I haven't spoken to her in a week. It's not easy to hear the truth from your friends.
That same day, I came home to find a message from one of the owners of the gym I belong to. They've noticed that I haven't been in for a while and just wanted to check on me to make sure everything's okay and is there anything they can do for me and please give them a call or come into the gym for a workout soon because I was working out regularly for so long....
Took me a couple of days to stop the bleeding from that one, too.
But they were both right. I had more energy when I worked out. I was a much more pleasant person when I exercised regularly. I handled adversity much better and released stress by spending that "me" time at the gym. I just needed to get over myself and leave the pity party and jump up onto that danged dreadmill and do it!!!!
So, this morning, I hauled my sorry carcass out of bed and put on my workout clothes and shoes and got into the car before I had time to wipe the sleep out of my eyes. Aero thought I was nuts (and he's probably right). I was on a mission: get to the gym and get on the treadmill. Period. No excuses. Ignore the panic attack. Just do it.
And I did. I managed 30 minutes on the treadmill - not bad for not exercising in such a long time. Of course, the knee still isnt' right and that slowed me down a bit, but I did it. And Stephanie, the owner of the gym who called me, was there cheering me on as I took those first few steps back into my life.
That's it. The pity party is officially over. That treadmill and me are going to become really good friends. And Mr. Elliptical? Yeah, your turn will come Monday.
I need an ice pack. And the phone. I need to call my friend and thank her for being so brutally honest with me.
Until Next Time,
Kel
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