So, for the last few months I've been seeing a personal trainer at the gym. Only certain people know this already. Partly because others don't converse with me about fitness and partly because I feel like it sounds fancy. Like, "Look at me, I'm paying someone to show me how to workout. Next I'll go buy all the Prada!" I for some reason associate personal training with people who have personal chefs, maids, and chauffeurs. (Also, is Prada even still cool? I don't even fuckin' know. Heather?)
Whatever. We all know this bitch ain't THAT fancy. Many have seen the dog and cat hair tumbleweeds rolling around on the regular at my house. My feet haven't even seen a professional pedicure in at least a year.
Anyway, so, there is that.
When I first started, I had already been in a headspace full of delicious self love. I had already given myself compassion and permission to be who I am including the physical being I inhabit. As a form of expressing this love to myself, I wanted to invest in giving me the best chance to be the best me. Someone to give me the swift kick in the pants as well as have the professional know-how to help me do things like hone my squats, bust out deadlifts, and to tell me that yes, you can do your pushups on your knees and have them still be totally effective. And, I found her. Her name is McKenna and she's at the East Y and is exactly who I needed (in case there are any ladies in Nashville looking for one!) She's tough, overlooks my potty mouth, and has found the best ways to motivate me. And we assist each other in mean-muggin' some of the annoying peeps at the gym.
It's been a very enlightening process. I discovered I love strength training. There is something about pushing your muscles, the ones I thought had completely atrophied to nothing, as hard as you can and seeing them rise up to the challenge and take shape. It's also the reason I can now go on hikes and not opt for the shortest trail and, hell, glide out of my office chair with ease (one thing I didn't even realize before was a slight struggle.)
Since the beginning, I cut over 2 mins off my mile run time, I can deadlift up to 40lbs on regular days (50 when I'm pushing and using small rep counts), and a slew of other things that there was no WAY I could do that morning in December on my first meeting. (Seriously, my squats were the scariest things that day and literally thought I died on the treadmill.)
So much of this work has changed the way I carry myself in life and turned regular, everyday tasks into being just that.
And yet, I nearly cancelled today's appointment with McKenna. Earlier this week I was thinking, "Ugh, I haven't been as regular lately with my personal workouts, she's gonna know I've been slacking, and she'll have just as much shame about it as I feel right now. WHHHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAT THE FUCK???????
Grant it, I've been battling a cough stemming from allergy issues over the weekend. That would have been an easy excuse. But what's really going on is ... (and I thank my friend Amber Arthur for helping me talk through and realize this..) I had lost focus on my true Why.
In the beginning it was simply to get moving and showing my body love. Then I started seeing progress and suddenly my Why shifted to something not genuinely my own. The scale isn't moving... the inches aren't shrinking (or growing in muscle areas)... and all kinds of other bullshit that had somehow leached into my brain. It no longer mattered that I was still making positive steps. I lead myself into this superficial realm of vanity. We all know that leads one down a spiraling rabbit hole full of shit.
How do we manage to do this to ourselves? Somehow just showing up is no longer enough. We have to go harder... be better... wear smaller pants... all while staring at our cheeks in the mirror wishing they weren't still so puffy.
NONE OF THIS SHIT MATTERS.
I'm SO lucky to be surrounded by friends I can say without a doubt love me as much as I love them as well as other amazing things in my life. And, my husband has never once eluded to feeling anything about my body but love as long as I was feeling good. And, my cats knead kitty biscuits way more on momma's belly than daddy's because it's way more fun and squishy. I'd be really sad if they stopped doing that.
I'm babbling this all out and sharing it with you in case my vulnerable phase can help you in any way.
Remember your Why.
Not their Why...not his Why.... YOUR Why.
And that some days, simply showing the fuck up IS the progress. (paraphrased from Amber Arthur <3)
