I could get upset with myself about all the hard work I undid over the last 4 months (or more!) whilst I wasn’t training.
I could put myself down and talk about being fat and lazy.
I could just give up and resign myself to a life of trying to be healthy but not trying too hard.
But I’m not going to do any of those.
Because a) it’s not helpful b) it’s not true and c) I don’t want to.
I haven’t worked out.
I haven’t had motivation. My PT left, my best friend/training partner left.
Yep, they’re excuses.
You can’t force someone to do something they don’t want to, not really.
Horse to water but can’t make it drink and all that jazz.
I haven’t wanted to train. I’ve missed my training partner, I’ve missed my pt, I’ve missed how simple life seemed 6 months ago.
To be honest, I’ve missed me time.
And I kept saying that I was trying to find me time so I just didn’t have time for the gym.
Then I remembered the gym is my me time.
So I went back.
I trained legs.
I disappointed myself with just how quickly I lost my strength.
I felt out of place with no one to train with.
But I didn’t give up.
I messaged my PT because he told me I always could but I just hadn’t because I didn’t want to be a pain in the ass.
I instagrammed that shit because I am proud.
Proud I didn’t give up for good.
Proud I’m back into it.
Proud of what my body is capable of.
I enjoy it.
I enjoy the push and pull.
The tension, the muscles strain and stretch.
The failure. Yes, the failure because it pushes me harder.
I enjoy walking away sweaty and breathless and wobbly-legged because I know I gave it my all.
I enjoy that on a day where nothing really feels right and I don’t know which way is up I can go and lift heavy shit and feel like I can do something even if it’s only for an hour.
I’ve accomplished something.
I’m not a long distance runner.
I probably could be if I tried. But it’s not where my heart is.
My heart is under the weights. It’s in the push and pull and resistance.
I can’t even describe how good it feels for me.
How amazing I feel flipping a tyre or pressing something I couldn’t before.
Your heart might be somewhere else. It might be swimming or marathons or kayaking or hiking or abseiling or jazz or rock and roll dancing.
Find the exercise that makes your heart sing.
Hold onto it. Make it your happy place.
Make it your place where everything makes sense at least for that amount of time.
Never let it go.
Never let you convince yourself that you’re not good enough or strong enough or young enough or old enough for whatever it is you choose.
You find what it is that moves you and you move.
It’s what I’m doing.