I was on a kick about 6 months ago. I was going to the gym 5
times a week and loving it. In all honesty, I was also very bored with my job,
which was infiltrating my personal life heavily, so the gym was an escape and a
way for me to avoid dealing with the reality of my situation. I typically hate
running, but had gotten myself into a stride (ha!) of combination walking and
jogging that had me feeling great about my fitness level.
About the time I hit my stride (seriously, I can’t stop
myself) I decided I was feeling good enough to make some life decisions. I
moved from entry-level desk job to professional position within a reputable,
local company. I watched my waistline shrink and the scales put up smaller
numbers. I was a happy camper.
Then, on a Tuesday morning in May, I woke up unable to move.
I knew immediately that I had somehow exacerbated the back injury I sustained
last summer, but refused to believe that it would keep me down. I took a day of
rest, a lot of ibuprofen, and prayed.
The next morning, I still couldn’t move. I called and made
an appointment with my orthopedic specialist, who had told me last summer that
my back injury could be “an ongoing problem, or it could just go away. These
things happen, and everyone is different.” Twenty-four hours later, I was
sitting in his office with an order for an MRI and strict instructions not to go
to work or visit the gym until the next weekend. When the doctor left and the
nurse popped in with a chipper attitude, stating, “Lucky you! No work or
workouts!” I completely broke down. I didn’t have enough sick hours built up at
the new job to take more than a week off of work. I also couldn’t imagine
missing my workout for 10 days in a row. Concerned, the doctor came back in and
inquired about the situation. Upon hearing out my concerns, he changed my work
restriction to “no driving for work” rather than “no going to work.” He
remained firm about the gym, telling me that if, by next weekend, I felt
better, I could look at taking walks on the treadmill.
Walks on the treadmill? I
put on my “poor me” pajamas that night and, although I woke up and went to work
the next morning, I kept the self-pitying attitude for some time. My routine
became so: I got up and went to work, came home and ate a ton of junk food,
went to bed, and started over the next morning. This lasted about 2 weeks, at
which time I became approved to go to the gym to walk on the treadmill and do
limited weightlifting. After this full restriction was lifted, I went
immediately to the gym and walked for 30 minutes on a treadmill. Between the
loss of fitness from time off from working out and the inability to participate
in my typical gym activities, I became easily frustrated and discouraged. I
walked out of the gym and didn’t go back for several weeks. Of course, by the
time I convinced myself to go back, the calendar read July – the Month of the
Trial. After two short workouts, I was without the time, energy, and motivation
to get to the gym due to the physical, mental, and emotional exertion of
getting to and through the Trial.
Needless to say, my relationship with my health was – is – faltering.
With the back injury, the Trial, and the job quitting, I all but gave up on
ensuring that I was taking care of my physical wellbeing. Prior to hurting my
back this spring, I had lost nearly 15lbs, had a kitchen stocked with fresh
fruits and vegetables, was sleeping well, and felt good in my own skin. As of
last week, I had gained back 13 lobs, had a freezer full of pre-cooked,
overprocessed foods and a refrigerator full of soda and leftover pizza, and I
hadn’t seen a treadmill in the month of August (unless you count that time when
I threw chocolate chips at the woman working out on TV.)
Last week, I decided I’d had enough of not respecting myself
enough to take care of me physically. I also decided I didn’t want to go back
to exercising addictively, because in all honesty I was addicted to the
avoidance, not the running. My doctor and I had come up with a “safe” exercise
routine for me back in June -
which includes minimal lifting and a lot of low-impact cardio – that I decided
to use as a starting point. Last week I went to the gym 3 times, a big step up
from 0 times. I cleaned out my refrigerator, so that nearly all of the foods I
brought to the O’s are healthy and fresh (or at least not labeled “DiGiorno” or
“Haagan-Daaz.”) I know that I am not going to make it to the gym every day
between two jobs and school, and there are two things that I have decided not
to do now that I have recognized this: 1) I will not feel guilty if I can only
make it 2 or 3 days per week, and will try to find other ways to get physically
active in my down time. 2) I will not become discouraged and give up when I
miss a week because of schoolwork or have a day when I don’t feel particularly
energetic. I deserve better than to give up on me.
Last night, I had to do quite a bit of schoolwork and then
work the night audit at 11:00 pm. I squeezed in a short workout around 10:00.
It wasn’t about burning 1,000 calories in one session or avoiding dealing with
a work issue, it was about taking care of me. I feel great about it.
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