Exercising my Inner Demons

Blogging for Books #12: Hit the Road, Jack (Guest Judge: Jennifer Leo)

For this month's contest celebrating a full year of Blogging for Books, we're looking to guest judge Jennifer Leo for inspiration.
For this month's Blogging for Books, write a blog entry about one of three things:

A time you did something spontaneously, in order to shake up your life

Friday, August 6, 2004. It wasn’t a day that shook the world. To anyone else, it was a blip on their weekly radar. But for me, it was the beginning of a journey, a trip I’m still on: filled with surprises, revelations, pain, exhaustion, and a little cussing. It was the day I joined a gym.

It wasn’t as though I woke up one day and realized, “Oh my gosh, I’m FAT and I must do something about it NOW!” I’ve always been a big girl, at least by society’s standards. I’ve been on diets for oh, about 2 weeks. Yo-yo should be my middle name. I’d even joined a gym the year I got married; I wound up having complications due to a broken ankle about a month later, so that was a bust.

Somehow, this time, it was different. I couldn’t rationalize why it was different. I mean, I had the support of my husband and kids. But I knew I was not only trying to change how I have been living for years, but dealing with my Chronic Fatigue Syndrome and Fibromyalgia to boot. Imagine having the flu for about 10 years….and when someone hits a tender point, it’s like they are driving a red hot nail into my bones. Oh yeah, *this* was going to be a successful endeavor.

The first sessions with my extremely thin and fit personal trainer were very intimidating. I felt like the biggest woman in the gym next to her, and I probably was. She had me at a snail’s pace on the treadmill, my heart rate clearly very unhappy with me. But the fact that she, too, had Fibromyalgia, began to inspire me. And even though I felt uncomfortable and awkward, like when I almost fell off the treadmill, I knew that this was far better than the self-consciousness I felt about my weight. And over time I realized that this wasn’t a place full of perfect bodies who were going to sneer at me. There were people to tell me “Way to go!” or give me high fives when I lost a few pounds and kept them off.

When sweat trickled down my face, or I felt so exhausted I thought my legs had turned to rubber, when my feet felt like broken glass, I found an inner voice I didn’t know existed. I felt a confidence that I could usually fake around people, but discovered it for real. You can do this. You’re strong. You’re doing a great job. Don’t give up.

I’ve had days where I just wanted to stop the treadmill, throw my shoes against the wall, and scream obscenities at the pain. There have been days when I held back the tears until I got to the car. There have been the ballet and kickboxing classes that made my muscles cramp for days. And after getting whiplash from a rollercoaster last October, there are the non-stop headaches, sometimes for hours, days, or weeks at a time that tempt me to stay home. But I keep going back. The treadmill is my friend.

Yes, that’s right folks--for the first time in my adult life, I actually enjoy exercising.

I never understood what a “runner’s high” or endorphins felt like until one day, when WHAM they hit me, and wow, it’s like the best drug *ever* (of course, I only have darvocet and muscle relaxants to compare them to). I hadn’t bargained on being sweaty, hot, and yet, euphoric. There are times I realize I’m grinning. And while it’s great fun to listen to my hockey mix CD or watch Buffy the Vampire Slayer while I work out, I also feel my brain opening up to think (especially when Jay announces the Blogging For Books topic). This is my time, which as a stay-at-home mom of 2 kids, is valuable, necessary, and practically sacred. During the three hurricanes that hit Florida last year, I paced the house while the wind howled outside, longing to go to the gym.

Where am I on this journey? 130 miles later, my goals still seem so far away. I sometimes feel incredibly frustrated that in the past 10 months, I’ve “only” lost 23 pounds, even though I’ve never lost and kept off a fraction of that before. I try to remind myself that it’s not all about the weight. It’s about how my starting heart rate has dropped over 20 beats a minute. It’s about how my blood pressure, which had become slightly elevated during the worst of my headaches, is back to normal. And there is over a yard less of me—over 45 inches gone.

I know I’ve had setbacks—sore ankles, doctor’s appointments, and the unrelenting headaches—so I should be more forgiving. But I’m impatient. Things have changed in my head faster than they have on the outside and I just want to be there *now*.