I am finishing this week aching but happy. Two days of LesMills Combat have just about done me in but I have enjoyed every second. Usually I try to avoid doing the same workout 2 days in a row, but knowing the popularity of today’s class, I decided it would be better to end up doing both than miss out and do none at all. I could really feel the difference today though- I still felt strong but my punches felt like they had much less power behind them- God only knows what tomorrows BodyPump will do to me!
It just goes to show how far my motivation has grown, that I can be feeling so on top of my game despite the catastrophe that was my mid-week slump. Every time I get back up after a falter, I am filled with a new confidence that this is not just one of my healthy, exercise kick phases; this time it has finally become a lifestyle. the one I can keep and sustain.
There are still challenges ahead but no bigger than those I have already overcome: moving away from the mountains that inspired me, living with my parents and having to work around their diets as well as my own, and mustering the energy to carry on training once I started working again. In the grand scheme of things they could never be called monumental accomplishments, yet I still feel that I have much to be proud of in what I have achieved.
I’m feeling distinctly stuck in a rut. It’s not that I’m bored exactly- I’m really really enjoying my classes still and am getting a great deal of satisfaction feeling the improvements in my strength week-by-week, but it feels like there’s an emptiness to my fitness; that it’s lacking the purpose and sense of adventure that I began with.
I suppose it stands to reason- my original aim was to run Comfortably Numb: a 25km epic of a trail- beautiful, directional, ridiculously challenging. My efforts now are geared towards nothing in particular since having to abandon that plan, and then my distraction technique of building my running pace and distance crashed to the ground with buckling knees and strained hips. I’m left with only my ancient- and until now shelved- dream of weighing in at 115lbs. It’s a goal, but it rings hollow and pointless, not to mention entirely at odds with everything I have been learning to believe about body image: that strength truly is the new skinny.
I am trying to look on the bright side however. This may well be just a phase; a post-Christmas slump in enthusiasm brought about by repeated peaks and troughs of chocolate comas and sugar highs that have defined the last 2 weeks. I am, at least, somewhat exempt on from the obligatory ‘eat less move more’ New Years Resolution this year. My continued dedication to regular exercise despite having no particular goal (or resolution) to drive me forward, suggests that I have begun to push into the realms of a fully formed habit. Even on the days when I can think of nothing worse than an advanced spin class, I still put one foot in front of the other and get myself there, and-for the most part- I enjoy it.
Hell, I’ve even managed to gather the will for a cheeky LesMills class after work and before I go home for my dinner. It may sound like a normal thing for many, but to me that’s a bloody miracle. Maybe I need to stop worrying about the purpose and enjoy what I’ve got: new healthy habits, an ever-improving body, and an active life. One day soon, I’ll get back on the trails, but for now I’ll just keep on enjoying the feeling of good health.