I thought it was love, but I may have been wrong.
It started out like any romance.
Hopeful.
Idyllic.
A thrill of newness.
Feeling like I had something to prove.
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I’ve been working out on a fairly consistent basis since November 17th. In addition to my indoor cycling workouts during a very cold, very damp, very grey winter, when I’m not traveling, I’ve been training twice a week at Franklin’s own Chadwick’s Fitness.
To provide some context, when I was in school (anytime between elementary school and graduation), I was extremely athletic. I could out-sprint just about anyone, guy or girl. In junior high and high school I played basketball ALL the time — in school, in summer leagues, in church leagues, in my driveway.
Sometimes, my friend Julie and I would go up to a local college and flirt with play ball with some of the college guys. I exaggerate not when I say they were actually impressed by how good we were. Julie reads my blog. She can vouch for that.
I loved to run in high school. It was a great way to rid myself of anger and frustration. My favorite route was about a mile. I’d take off from behind our house and sprint as fast as I could seven blocks to the closest elementary school and turn around and sprint back. It was a fierce kind of run, but tremendously cathartic.
After I graduated, I still would run when time would allow.
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Seven years ago I started having heart problems. I would try and exercise, but try as I would, I couldn’t get past half a mile without my chest exploding in pain. I didn’t really want to die, so…I stopped.
For those who are new here, after six years of trying to get my heart condition diagnosed, I finally found a spectacular doctor in Nashville at St. Thomas Heart who found the problem and a month later, fixed it. I had a condition called AV Nodal Reentrant Superventricular Tachycardia (or SVT for short). For you who are click-averse, that means my heart had two more electrical pathways than a normal heart (you have two, I had four) and during times of exertion (or after too much caffeine even) my heart rate would escalate from a normal resting rhythm (60-100 bpm, mine is typically 80-85) to 220 or 240 bpm.
Your body doesn’t get oxygen distributed properly when your heart beats like that.
Anyway, I had surgery to fix it, it was successful, and I began exercising on my own. However, I lacked the same love for running that I had formed in my earlier years. I joined a gym, and found a trainer who pushes me to no end. I’ve been riding my bike to train for Ride:Well, and just trying to make up for six lost years of lost cardio.
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I have a lot of friends who are exercise junkies. People who do things like triathlons and marathons for fun. I even met a guy a few weeks ago who did this ultramarathon thing. He and a friend ran 26-28 miles a day for three days, took one day off, and then would repeat it until they made their way from Mexico to Canada or something.
REPEATING: THEY DO THIS FOR FUN.
When I began exercising, I thought surely I would fall back in love with it. I remember how, when I was in high school, my feet would hit the pavement so hard when I was upset and how good I felt with the air moving through my lungs with each deep breath.
I thought that love would come back.
But it hasn’t.
It’s not that I dislike exercise. I know it’s good for me. I know that even though I still haven’t lost much weight (two pounds in five months!) I am stronger and leaner than I ever have been. I know my heart and lungs are healthier. I know that there isn’t much I couldn’t accomplish physically.
And all those things are great.
But I still don’t love it.
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I believe this may be one of those defining moments in life where I look at a situation and say, “Yeah, this isn’t the most emotionally wonderful thing in the world for me, but it’s what I need to do.”
This may be a place where true discipline falls into play. I know every Tuesday and Thursday that I’m in town, I’m in the gym for at least an hour, about to throw up and gasping for air, and Brandon doesn’t let me stop. When I’m home during the week, I’m getting out and running up the hill by my house, or taking my bike out and not stopping when it’s “just enough” but truly pushing through that extra bit because it’s what I need to do.
There are so many areas in my life outside of physical fitness that this story could plug and play.
My relational life? Absolutely. I’d rather be a recluse, so to reach out and place myself in social situations is difficult for me sometimes.
Emotionally? We’ll save that for another blog post, but let’s just say it’s hard to ask for help when you face the same demons over and over again.
Spiritually? Paul eloquently describes that struggle in Romans 7.
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I know one thing’s for certain – all of us have our broken pieces. The things we really want to do, and we really want to love, but we just can’t seem to get there. I’m not sure what yours might be, but I want you to know you’re not alone in it.
It’s a fight. A big, fat, hairy fight. And it will be ’til the end.
But that’s where relationships come in. And things like trust, and encouragement.
Brandon, my trainer, has heard my fair share of complaining. He has witnessed my stubbornness and has seen me lower the weights on a machine so it’s easier on me.
And he’s not one to let me get away with it. He adds the weight back on and keeps telling me to push.
“I said 12? I meant 15! Three more! Why? Because I know you can.”
The thing is…he’s always right.
Is your motivation gone?
You just can’t find that place inside yourself to continue on?
Push through it.
Why?
Because I know you can.
I know we can.