A letter from a member when I used to teach at Gold’s…who became a friend…and who has since moved away and is missed:
A few days ago I ran a Half Marathon in the town I grew up in. I stayed with my father the night before. He picked me up from the airport, drove me to registration, and woke up at 5am on race day to make me my morning coffee. We drove into the city at dawn, and waited an hour in the freezing cold for the race to start. Pictures were taken, cheering was done, and he kept telling me how proud he was of me, which, frankly, surprised the hell out of me. But, I suppose if the last physical event I had seen myself compete in was Field Hockey my senior year of high school…I’d be pretty proud of me too; considering that was about 15 years ago. But I’ve been living with personal fitness being a part of my life for years now. And although I haven’t run more than 12 miles before, I knew I could do this, and do it well.
We all have our personal journeys, I suppose. Insecurities, setbacks, health issues, or head issues. Things that get in the way of us finding out that the idea of “I can’t,” doesn’t necessarily have to exist.
When I was a teenager, like so many girls of the 90’s, I was always thinking about how I could get thin. I participated in sports, tried weight watchers, ate rice cakes for lunch, and dabbled in eating disorders. I took up smoking to lose weight, (and to be cool,) but neither really panned out. I was getting chubby, and when I tried lifting weights at home, I just got bigger. My mom would say to me, “stop lifting weights, you are getting man shoulders.” Oh the horror!
Sports ended after High School, and although I walked most of my college career, not having a car in a big city, I still didn’t spend much time running, jumping, or doing any activity whatsoever. I am all too familiar with the uncomfortable space of time where you are trying to decide if you should lie about “how much do you exercise” on your doctor’s yearly questionnaire…I mean, does carrying groceries count?
After college I would get hand me down videos from my sister from time to time. Some 10 minute or less workouts, mostly for your abs and butt, because we all used to think that if you wanted a flat tummy, you just needed more sit-ups.
Something hit me at around age 25. I was in a terrible relationship, and was looking for something that I could do to better myself. I wanted something selfish to do, that had nothing to do with taking care of anyone else. I was tired of focusing my attention elsewhere. I decided that if I wanted to better my life, I might as well start bettering myself, in the most obvious way I knew how. So, I gathered up my hand-me down videos and got to work. There was a lot of sweat, wheezing, and terrible groaning. I was a frizzy- haired mess. But after I started to memorize the routines, I would put my Fleetwood Mac on in the background and let some “Gold Dust Woman” inspire me to keep on keeping on.
A few months go by. My tapes are so worn out, they are starting to skip. It might be time for some DVD’s. In between, I break up with my terrible boyfriend. I graduate to Denise Austin’s workouts and start taking Pilates classes at a local school 2 nights a week. I had quit smoking, and found out I had asthma. Sounds like a perfect time to start running, doesn’t it?
I run around the block, and get plantar fasciitis. My lungs feel like they will explode.
I wake up every morning, massaging my feet. Since I cannot run, or jump around to Denise’s cardio, I keep with the Pilates and The Firm’s abdominal and butt portfolio. You can always use more butt work, I always say.
I try to run again, but I find out plantar fasciitis sucks, and takes forever to heal. I try to run every morning, until one day, I can make it around the block again.
I start waking up at dawn, every morning, and seeing if I can run/jog/walk a little further each week.
Eventually, I’m running what I think might be a mile or two. I feel AWESOME. So proud. I must be getting fit! I can run, and I’m doing Pilates, and I must be getting into such great shape!
A year goes by, and I decide to take a Group Exercise class at my friend’s gym. I fall in love. I am sweating, dying, and need my inhaler twice. Now if I could only do THIS, THEN I will REALLY be fit! A few months later, I break down and join my own gym. I nearly puke in the parking lot, before I’ve even walked through the door. I was about to enter my first group fitness class, ALL BY MYSELF. Terrifying. I go in, and proceed to sweat my butt off, and have an amazing time. There’s loud music, a colorful disco ball, and I can barely make out my movements in the mirror. Oh the anonymity of it all! Plus, it doesn’t feel too bad throwing punches at an invisible ex, or even myself from time to time.
A year later, I’m asked to take classes to become an instructor at my gym! NOW, if I can only get certified…now THEN I’ll REALLY be fit! All instructors must be fit!
I get certified and feel like a champ. I know I’m one of those instructors that looks like, “normal people,” and I’m proud for all the curvy ladies out there.
Somehow, all along the way, I started hiking. Just for fun camping trips at first, with short walks in, and lakes full of snakes and leaches to swim in. I was fearless, I was excited, and I loved the feeling of moving forward, without worrying about anything but keeping one’s step. Eventually, I graduated from small hills to high peaks. I would get on a trail and never want to stop moving my legs until I was breathing in the clouds. And then I’d catapult downhill. Best hangover medicine on the block; for any vice; alcohol, sad days…whatever.
I get a new job that moves me away from my classes, friends, and beloved mountains. I am saddened by their absence. My new position at work takes me up and down the east coast. I spend much of my time travelling, and struggling to pay my rent in a new city. So, not being able to afford a gym membership, I run on treadmills at hotels, or in my new city…when I get the chance. The year goes by, and I start to see the effects of stress, poor time management, and terrible eating habits. I’m gaining weight, losing muscle, and losing steam.
Finally, I decide I may need a gym again. The accountability of it all is undeniable. Classes that keep you there for an hour at a time, and treadmills at the ready when it’s too cold and rainy to run outside. I start taking classes, running more in my city, and feeling like my old self again.
Then I move a couple more million miles away…or at least a few hours.
And I join a new gym right away. I know I can’t afford to delay, as I’ve just gotten myself back in the swing of things. I walk into a new class called “IIT” with Erica. I think, and I have to admit this, rather self-righteously, “I don’t know what this is, but I’m sure I’ve totally got this.” 10 minutes later I was puffing on my inhaler, (that I thought I didn’t need anymore,) and 20 minutes after that I was pretending to puff on my inhaler because I couldn’t possibly move another step, and I’d already taken like 5 water breaks. I didn’t think I could set foot in that room again.
A year later, I run into this class whenever I get the chance. When I’m on the road for work, I try to find ways to incorporate a workout into my hectic schedule. I travel with bands and hand weights, and do the EatThatMonkey.tv workouts; nothing encourages you to “land soft” more than a workout with burpees at midnight. As new posts come up, I know I’ve got something fun and challenging to try on my next trip. I’ve even starting running new trails when I’m on the road. I listen to music, run through the woods, and focus on my feet. One foot, in front of the other. Breathe in, breathe out. Relax your shoulders, soften your step. Run smooth.
My “Monkey” workouts are the next step for me, but they never stop being hard. There’s always that feeling of being pushed to your limit. That’s the one thing I always thought would go away when working out. Like, “one day, this will be easy.” One day, I will be the ephemeral “fit.” But I now realize that I’ve got to drop this idea of “finally achieving fit.” And I don’t need it anymore. I don’t want “easy.” I crave that challenge. I’ve been conditioned to need it. As Erica would say, it tells me I’m alive.
