I've heard the following comments from friends and family recently, regarding my increased interest in athletic endeavors:
- How do you get up that early?
- Why the sudden increase in activity?
- You're really getting obsessed.
- Aren't you tired?
- Where does all this energy come from?
And so on.
As I've said before, I've never been an athlete. For a great portion of my life, I was a fat kid. The one picked last for P.E. games. The one who had to sit out because she couldn't breathe much. The one who had to hang on the rope instead of climb it because, well, she couldn't hoist her sorry ass up there.
A dozen years or so ago, I lost a lot of weight (partially because of smoking, which is not one bit healthy or athletic and not something I'd recommend) and worked out at a local gym quite a bit. My interest in physical activity, though, was a sort of - geez I hate this, I'm uncoordinated, my body aches, I'd rather be eating Doritos and watching Friends reruns. Then I got pregnant, gained 60 pounds (funny how the baby only weighed 7 of those), and pretty much went to hell.
But in the last couple of years, I started thinking of exercise in a new way. It has become part of my prescription for better mental health. My psychiatrist, my family doc, my gyno, my therapist, even my husband -- they all say, "You'll feel better if you just do it. Lots of people don't like to do it. No excuses. Just get up and do it." And, most of them promised, eventually you'll actually start looking forward to it and miss it when you don't do it. I thought, "Yeah, sure. And farm animals might sprout wings."
About a year ago, I joined the gym. I started spinning. I joined the group weightlifting class. I rode my bike outside more. I elliptical'ed (that can't be right). And a month ago, I started this maniacal running kick. Yesterday, I bought my first running shoes. I own cross trainers, running shoes and spinning shoes...three pairs of athletic footwear, all at the same time. Check my temperature, am I feeling well?!
As promised, I look forward to it and miss it when I don't do it. I still ache. I'm tired. There are days when I think I couldn't possibly get out of bed at that heinous hour to move and sweat. But I treat it like my lithium and sertraline and therapy sessions. It's part of what keeps me on an even keel, centered, my serotonin and endorphin levels up-up-up, working to avoid the spiral down into darkness. Healthcare providers everywhere tout the benefits of regular exercise, including the renowned Mayo Clinic. WebMD describes the euphoric feelings exercise creates in people as similar to the effects of MORPHINE. Yeah, baby.
In the process, I've developed a new sense of myself, a new view of who I am. I'd like to avoid labels, but for the first time I see myself as part of this community of athletes. I'm not the fastest or the fittest, the strongest or the best. But I'm out there, trying, doing, being. And smiling. And I expect to do whatever I can to keep it that way for as long as possible. Hopefully, a long and happy lifetime.
- How do you get up that early?
- Why the sudden increase in activity?
- You're really getting obsessed.
- Aren't you tired?
- Where does all this energy come from?
And so on.
As I've said before, I've never been an athlete. For a great portion of my life, I was a fat kid. The one picked last for P.E. games. The one who had to sit out because she couldn't breathe much. The one who had to hang on the rope instead of climb it because, well, she couldn't hoist her sorry ass up there.
A dozen years or so ago, I lost a lot of weight (partially because of smoking, which is not one bit healthy or athletic and not something I'd recommend) and worked out at a local gym quite a bit. My interest in physical activity, though, was a sort of - geez I hate this, I'm uncoordinated, my body aches, I'd rather be eating Doritos and watching Friends reruns. Then I got pregnant, gained 60 pounds (funny how the baby only weighed 7 of those), and pretty much went to hell.
But in the last couple of years, I started thinking of exercise in a new way. It has become part of my prescription for better mental health. My psychiatrist, my family doc, my gyno, my therapist, even my husband -- they all say, "You'll feel better if you just do it. Lots of people don't like to do it. No excuses. Just get up and do it." And, most of them promised, eventually you'll actually start looking forward to it and miss it when you don't do it. I thought, "Yeah, sure. And farm animals might sprout wings."
About a year ago, I joined the gym. I started spinning. I joined the group weightlifting class. I rode my bike outside more. I elliptical'ed (that can't be right). And a month ago, I started this maniacal running kick. Yesterday, I bought my first running shoes. I own cross trainers, running shoes and spinning shoes...three pairs of athletic footwear, all at the same time. Check my temperature, am I feeling well?!
As promised, I look forward to it and miss it when I don't do it. I still ache. I'm tired. There are days when I think I couldn't possibly get out of bed at that heinous hour to move and sweat. But I treat it like my lithium and sertraline and therapy sessions. It's part of what keeps me on an even keel, centered, my serotonin and endorphin levels up-up-up, working to avoid the spiral down into darkness. Healthcare providers everywhere tout the benefits of regular exercise, including the renowned Mayo Clinic. WebMD describes the euphoric feelings exercise creates in people as similar to the effects of MORPHINE. Yeah, baby.
In the process, I've developed a new sense of myself, a new view of who I am. I'd like to avoid labels, but for the first time I see myself as part of this community of athletes. I'm not the fastest or the fittest, the strongest or the best. But I'm out there, trying, doing, being. And smiling. And I expect to do whatever I can to keep it that way for as long as possible. Hopefully, a long and happy lifetime.
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Chilly Dog