Blog #23: “What Doesn’t Kill You Makes You Stronger?”

Tonight I learned 1) life is a growth opportunity, 2) what a “speed bag” is (and it’s definitely not what I thought it was!), 3) when someone asks if you have ever chopped wood, hands you a sledgehammer, and says “hit that tractor tire as hard as you can until I tell you to stop”, immediately claim a stress injury, 4) you actually CAN do one more rep, 5) you will not actually sweat to death, 6) I feel slightly badass when I put on boxing gloves, 7) low hurdles are still hurdles but you can jump over them even when you think you don’t have anything left to give, 8) apparently my preference for Cheetos, Mountain Dew and Twizzlers does not qualify as a”good nutritional choice”, 9) leaving it “all on the mat” can lead to a chaotic drive home, and, 10) that this will not actually kill me.

Last night, in an unexpected turn of events, I got about 4 hours of sleep. Stress dreams led to stress dreamlessness leading to the cats being disturbed enough to repeatedly bite my nose (still not sure of the connection but Tucker really got into it!) leading to some tossing of pillows and pacing in the kitchen…all before 4 am. I did that “I’m not actually sleeping” and “I’m bitter I’m not sleeping” combination thing until about 7am when I remembered that I actually had to go to work…you get the idea.

I considered canceling my training session. I was exhausted. And crabby. I actually had a million and one reasons not to go. But I did…I expected to get away with giving 74% but my trainer had other ideas. We boxed. And by boxed I mean I alternated between hitting a bag and chasing him through the gym where he would suddenly turn at which point my already sleep deprived brain had to decide whether to jab one time or repeatedly with the left or right hand or kick him…I own it that totally just wanted to kick him every time. He handed me a sledgehammer and I hit a tire. So many times. I am now basically a lumberjack. I jumped repeatedly over a hurdle that seemed twenty feet tall. Breathless. Sweaty. Tired. I secretly pondered if I could use “exercise high” as a reason to get away with murdering him. There were ropes. Heavy ropes that you have to beat against the floor. One at a time. Two at a time. Apparently, if you do it right…who am I kidding? I never got it right. I learned what a squat was. And a squat with weights is simply a way for me to fast track to death. At one point, I unexpected sat down. Not because I wanted to sit. No. My legs simply decided that enough was enough. They refused to work.  And then the lunges. OMG. The lunges. And then…I had to to 30 additional minutes of cardio. 

Life is hard. Today was hard. I didn’t have much hope and faith and all the shiny happy things. But today I remembered what it felt like to be proud of myself. I felt my body as powerful. Exhausted but changing. Growing and becoming. For the first time in a long time…I felt alive. And now…even while it hurts to breathe and every muscle in my body is screaming, I feel strong. Today didn’t kill me. And that in and of itself is the win. I have indeed lived to fight another day. 

 

(The Body Electric: Blog Post# 22) Crying is Frowned Upon in this Establishment

Today I learned the following: 1) I do not run particularly quickly and rarely with intention. 2) I have no idea what “the burn” is but I DO, however, now understand the concept of “shredding a muscle” (I am both oddly proud to have survived said ritual and slightly sick at my stomach at the sheer thought). 3)Working out with a tiny hangover AND a trainer is vastly different than just working out with a tiny hangover and my usual sense of inertia. 4) I actually do have abdominal muscles but their lack of consistent (or actually more accurately ever) use has affected something called my core which has led to lower back pain(?) and, finally, 5) While swearing is perfectly fine, crying is frowned upon in this establishment.

While I was experiencing the unique torture that is a affectionately known as an “ab workout”, the sheer pain of the moment caused me to yell out a quite colorful string of profanities. I blame the leg lifts (not poor home training). My trainer did not bat an eye. In fact, when questioned, he said that he hears those words all the time from his clients. It is apparently some common type of exertion/pain benchmark. I then asked about crying…as big tears were running down my face. He looked extremely uncomfortable and slightly aghast with this turn of events and stated in a loud definitive voice “We don’t do that here. You can’t do that. Crying is…no. You can’t do that.”

As I sit here, safely in my bed after a long bubble bath and with a medicinal glass of wine, I can feel the beginnings of that particular hell that occurs (as I have only recently learned) when you have traveled beyond exhausting a particular muscle series. When it hurts to move said muscles even to the most minute degree. I  am currently unable to roll over in the traditional fashion due to agony radiating from my newly discovered core.I suspect that by tomorrow I will be in traction. And all I want to do is cry.

And I am thinking about the concept of crying. We cry because we hurt. We cry because of frustration. We cry because we are sad. Sometimes I cry at Christmas coffee commercials. You know the ones where the prodigal child returns from some distant place? I don’t cry easily or well. I often feel embarrassed when I have the urge to vent my emotions in that particular way. Crying has always felt like a failure of communication or personal expression for me, although oddly I feel that it is perfectly fine for others and is something that I deeply support and in fact encourage others to do all the time? Anyway…this process is pushing me to my limits. As I shed the layers, I am reminded that we hold past trauma, grief, happiness, really all the things, in our bodies until we let them go. And I wonder what sort of healing journey I have unexpectedly begun. Where will I be when I reach the clearly defined goals that I have set for this process? But perhaps more importantly…who will I be? Will I feel better about expressing painful feelings? Will I be more emotionally available and present? Will I dream of a beautiful loving world again?

I know that the next steps will unfold as they should. I will dutifully and repeatedly pay someone to push me beyond any reasonable limits. I will remember to hydrate and wipe down machines after I am done using them. I will challenge myself to find that nirvana of balance between self care and self actualization.

I will perhaps cry a little.