the workout

So here is what just happened. 

The childcare at my gym sucks.  My sister and I left our sons there a few months back and came back from Zumba class to crying babies left in jumperoos and a staff person grumpily cleaning up and ignoring our questions.  Kat no longer takes Elijah to the gym with her.  I have fewer options or opportunities to work out, so I complained about the bitchy staff person and tried again.  We did ok for a few weeks.  Until last week.  When the little teenage girl was confused about why I wanted Judah taken out of his carseat.  And then found me.  45 minutes into my workout.  Told me Judah had been crying the whole time I was gone and she "thinks he pooped" and I needed to come get him.  I acted a little more than upset.  Not because my workout was interrupted (mid-rep.  Only my left leg was sore the next day) but because Judah never cries.  Ever.  And certainly not for 45 minutes.  I got into the childcare room and my poor little boy was crying the hurt cry. 

Also.  He had not pooped.

So I withdrew my childcare payment from the gym and have been creatively finding time to workout ever since.  Early in the morning before going to the office.  Quickly before getting Judah from his excellent nanny.

And today.  Today I worked out on my lunch break. 

Work has been fifty shades of hell lately.  I am doing the job of three people and getting very little return.  Working non stop and doing people favors and de-escalating and recruiting and arguing and problem solving.  I could make more money probably going to work as a receptionist at a hospital.  But noooooo.  I wanted to be a social worker.  I wanted to have direct access to people.  I wanted to manage care.  Stupid idea.

Anyway.  My point is.  Today I went to the gym on my lunch break because the weather is nice and I want to get Judah early and go home and play outside. 

One of my best friends Brigid is a strength coach and lives in Washington.  The state.  Not the capital.  I wish it was DC.  She'd be closer.  But no, she lives on the Pacific side of the country and she's in love and learning about how beautiful she is and what it means to be in a relationship and work is wearing her out too.  When I hit a pretty bad self-esteem slump a few weeks ago, she sent me some workouts to try. 

I got back into strength training a few weeks ago and can already tell a marked difference in my body.  Ugh. Sometimes the solution is right in front of your face and it just looks like too much work.  But I've been down this road before and I know the benefits.  This time, it was all about making time.  It was all about trying just a little bit harder.  Pushing farther.  Finding my baseline and not looking back.

The workout Brig gave me was ten reps of five "simple" body weight exercises.  The instructions say to do 8 sets.  It was 2:15.  I needed to be done in a reasonable amount of time, and 8 sounded like a hell of a lot to me, so I thought, "I'll shoot for four".  Ten reps of five exercises, four times over. 

Before I knew it it was 2:30 and I had done all four.  I was sweating.  Heart was pounding.  And my quads and hamstrings were on fire from those damned tuck jumps.  (P.s. I dont do "jumps" normally.  I look silly.  And I don't like looking silly.)

I had some more time before I had to be back at the office, so I decided to do one more.  Five, instead of four.  That would push me over my plateau. 

I stretched for a minute and stared at the wall.  I had time.  And really there were only three sets left before I could say I had done them all.  I was over halfway.  Three is less than five. 

So I did my sixth. 

Stared suspiciously at the guy doing halfhearted stretching across the room and turned my back to him.

Eyeballed the snotty desk girl who came in to check on the aforementioned suspicious man.

Took a deep breath. 

And did my seventh.

Abs hurt.  Quads hurt.  Shoulders hurt.  Hamstrings hurt.  Ass hurt.  Heart pounded.  Face was red.

And then I did my eighth set. 

I had set out to do half.  I thought that's all I could do.  I thought, "there's no way I can complete this whole workout".  I had set my bar low.  I had miscalculated, misjudged, my own strength.  More improtantly, I had misjudged my own stamina.  My own determination. 

I will be sore tomorrow.  Muscles were torn.  Reparation hurts.  Recovery is a process.  And often in order to get stronger, we have to re-tear.  Re-stretch.  Re-visit those torn and hurt places so we can build muscle where there wasn't muscle before.


Chances are, what we think we can't endure, we are already enduring. 

Because, chances are, we're stronger than we think we are.