Keeping the Enthusiasm

The little white dog kept her nose in a dirt pile, paying us no mind as we neared her lawn. Biscuit stepped on a branch, snapping it beneath her paw. 

She saw us.  

Her whole body perked up in attention and suddenly, the dirt pile held little importance compared to this stranger and her human. 

Off she bolted, frustratingly confined by the invisible fence her human had installed to keep her from running away. She reached the end of the zone, pivoted and sprinted back to where she had begun, the whole time keeping her eyes fixated on us as we stood still, watching her furiously dart back and forth, back and forth, yapping, yapping, yapping. 

I laughed at the tiny fluffy pup and her silliness, but at the same time, envied her ability to be so explosively excited at the most minute happening. My dog and I offered her nothing but stimulation, yet her tail enthusiastically wagged off in a tizzy, no holds barred. 

In the sheer simplicity of the yappy creature's joy, I realized how much more enjoyable life would be if we all allowed ourselves to feel such extreme happiness at the simple things in life.

I'm not advocating we do back-flips every time a new person passes by- there is a certain level of decorum humans (sometimes sadly) must adhere to. I remember being "spoken to" by a superior after giving a hug, complete with running start and a leap, to my boyfriend at the time, when he came to visit me at work. Apparently, this was not "acceptable" behavior. Hmph. 

Ok, so I understand (but won't always agree) that there is a time and place to express excitement at the highest volumes according to rules, codes of conduct, blah, blah, blah... But, I do think that we could all benefit from adding an extra exclamation point when expressing happiness when it strikes. 

Perhaps this means...

showing more excitement when seeing a loved one at the end of a long day,

or

not suppressing the sheer feel-good-ness that comes from a great workout,

or 

wearing a full-on smile as opposed to a weak grin when someone takes a moment to pay a compliment.

It truly is the little things in life that have the potential to make the biggest impact. Allowing ourselves to be happy and feel joy on the highest possible level is an important part of taking care of ourselves and our well-being. 

Smiling, laughing, expressing happiness offers levity to the entire body, mind and spirit... it's like giving ourselves a big, cuddly hug, from the inside-out. Why would we ever put a limitation on that?  

Running in 91F Can Cause Temporary Insanity…

Two and a half miles into my four mile run in the 91 degree weather, I pulled back my pace to conserve energy and switched to a light jog, planning to amp it back up once I reached shadier grounds; the sun relentlessly beat down on me with no branches or shadows to blunt its power. At my slower rate, a car passed me by as I momentarily locked eyes with the driver. Instinctively, I created a back-story in my mind and concluded that he had been unimpressed at the slowness of my movement. I found I was mentally defending myself against this make-believe judgment, spewing back that I had run the first two miles at a much faster roll and fully intended to add some sprints at the last stretch. How dare he judge my less than optimal pace? How dare he assume I was a slow runner? The car was miles away by then.

Growing up, I was conditioned by constant feedback, both negative and positive, to gauge how well or poorly I was doing. Grades, piano recitals, play performances, art pieces… all meaningless until after I was told how wonderful or atrocious they were.  I developed a need for validation of my efforts, otherwise, they were pointless. Like any other habit picked up as a child, it was hard to unlearn and un-need validation for my hard work, but it had to be done in order to live a happy life and have healthy, non-codependent relationships.  

Running, lifting, sweating, changing my body and improving my fitness are all personal efforts of mine. I put in a lot of time, energy and all around hard work in to myself in order to practice what I preach and be the best possible version of me. These things are my own- not in competition with anyone (but myself) and not to impress anybody (but myself… sometimes!). If I shave a rep off of a set or knock a mile off of a run I know I can complete, I am only cheating myself out of my own personal goals. I’ve come to know my body. I know my personal bests… how much I was able to lift the last time… how far and fast I ran the time before (and I’ll be damned if this time I don’t match or break those records!). I need no one to tell me how hard I’m working and need no recognition as to if my workout was a success or not. I am my most honest, informed, and accurate critic and I need no one’s validation to confirm or tell me otherwise!

Old habits die hard. Sometimes they creep back when least expected and manifest in the most odd of ways. I ended the mental argument I had been having between the random driver-by and myself, swearing it must have been partially fueled by the sweltering heat. How silly I had been, giving any weight to the opinion of a man that was most likely just checking out to see if I had huge knockers (which I most certainly don’t… sorry to disappoint, sir). After regaining sense (and sanity), I picked my pace back up once out of the unshaded stretch of road and ended my run with a few interval sprints. As I took a lap around the driveway, I felt the endorphins flooding through my body and I relished in the wonders of “runner’s high.” Ahh… yes, that’s right… after the miles have been logged and the time has been checked, that immeasurable feeling right there that only I can experience? That’s what it’s all really about.

Learning from Injury

Last summer, I cried when the persistent pain in my shoulder was diagnosed as “long thoracic nerve palsy.” Hearing the clinical terms scared me as I associated “palsy” with “something really, really bad.” The nerve damage greatly reduced my range of motion of my dominant arm and made lifting anything over three pounds impossible. I felt defeated on the weight room floor as even the lightest dumbell was too heavy; just a week ago, I had been able to press 20 pound dumbells over-head with ease. Even with the reassurance of  my physical therapist, I worried that I would never regain the strength that I had worked so hard to build.

After the initial mental/emotional sting of being injured subsided and after doing research on my condition, I was able to see the shades in between the black and white. Since I had always been active, my body would theoretically respond and repair quicker than if I had led a sedentary lifestyle. Looking for the universe’s message in the situation, I realized I had not given my muscles a prolonged break from constant weight lifting in years. So, I resolved to take a one-month weight lifting hiatus, as much as it pained me to do so, sticking only to cardiovascular training. In the mean time, I would experiment with different forms of cardio while I attended physical therapy.

Performing my exercises in therapy, I felt embarrassed that my shoulder blade winged out under the slightest pressure of lifting a three-pound handweight. When I reached for something above my head, my right arm laid limp and useless beside me. Even the weight of my own arm was too much for my shoulder to handle as I had to assist it upwards with the help of my uninjured arm. The frustration was endless, but I kept telling myself to trust in my body’s ability to heal and to be kind to it in its weakened state.

Over months of work, I slowly climbed the weight stack. I learned to recognize the smallest of signs of progression; Reaching for a bowl without having to assist with my good arm or bringing my hands to touch overhead during yoga were celebratory feats. The gratitude I had for the human body’s musculo-skeletal system grew with every menial task I was able to accomplish.

Almost a year later, I still catch myself babying my shoulder, afraid to undo any prograss I had made or, worse, reinjure it. With kindness and trust in my body’s abilities to heal and grow stronger, I am back on the weight room floor, setting personal records and attacking new highs with more intesity than every before. I relish in my abilities to do an unassisted pull up and hold a flexed arm hang for moments at a time. Just months ago, asking my shoulder to support such movements was laughable. I am not at 100% recovery, but I am very close. The progress is still slow, but that is okay.The lessons I’ve learned along this path have been worth the frustration. I’ve learned to be patient with as my muscles would only let me inch forward no matter how badly I wanted to leap. My ability to let go has been tested as I never discovered where the nerve damage came from, and I probably never will. I embrace that my body is the only one I will ever live in and I must treat is with love, compassion and care in order for it to bring me through a (hopefully) long, strong and healthy life!

The Silent Language of Runners

The warmth from the sun being tempered by a slightly cooler breeze coaxed a pair of running sneakers on to my feet, sending me on an outdoors jog, despite the fact I had deemed it a “rest day” for my muscles to recover. Taking it at an easy pace, I paid no mind to the time or my miles-per-hour. This run wasn’t about athleticism or personal records- it was about feeling the earthbeneath my feet and enjoying nature’s gift of a perfect summer day.

There is an unspoken set of mannerisms among the running community. A slight nod of the head or wave of the hand is normal as paths are crossed. It’s a polite, subtle recognition of a mutual love for pavement pounding. Sometimes, it serves as a nonverbal “hey, I feel your pain” if the weather is challengingly extreme or a hill seems to be at a 180 degree angle. It’s like being in a club with a secret handshake and all it takes to become a member is to place one foot in front of the other and repeat.

I rounded the second to last turn on my usual route and saw a man with grayed hair, wearing multicolored spandex running gear and a dark pair of athletic sunglasses in the distance, running towards me. He seemed to be in his late fifties or early sixties, but in great physical condition, nonetheless. I gave him a quick wave of acknowledgement.

As I came around the final half-mile marker bend, trudging along at my casual pace, I saw the same man out of the corner of my eye, gradually gaining headway on me. Out of admiration of his conditioning (and partially due to my competitive nature), I picked up my pace, just enough to steadily keep a few feet behind him. I remained on the uneven sidewalk as he opted for the flat roadway’s shoulder.

There are two baby hills within the last quarter mile that I usually sprint, fueled by a runner’s high that never fails to push me through. As I revved myself in to full speed, I passed my unofficial running partner, ending my run at the top of the driveway accross the street, panting for air, feeling accomplished. Turning my gaze towards the man, we caught eachother’s attention as he gave me an enthusiastic thumbs-up and I smiled through my gasps, shouting “thank you!” knowing that he knew I was grateful for the extra motivational mental push he provided me.

As I crossed the street, I realized that the man was actually my neighbor. I watched him turn in to the driveway that I had used as my finish line for years. All this time, I lived across the way from a fellow runner that ended up being a source of motivation for the end of my run. On any other day, that man would just be a fellow road-runner that understood the unspoken runners’ launguage.  I smiled to myself as I realized that motivation and inspiration can come from anywhere- even from the neighbor accross the way that I had never once introduced myself to.

Out of My Own Way

Dizzy and seeing stars, I gasped for air, gulping it down, causing my stomach to churn, ebbing on nausea. I regained the slightest bit of composure, watched the timer count the last second of the interval and hopped back on to the speedily-rolling belt of the treadmill, grasping for any last bit of motivation I could to complete the high intensity interval training run I had set out to accomplish. With ten seconds left of my final uphill sprint, I wondered if I could finish. I contemplated cutting the last stretch short… “It’s only ten seconds less than what you had wanted to do. What’s the difference?”

Fueled by anger towards the fact that a voice of such negativity and dishonor even existed within me, I dashed out the last ten seconds and pushed myself to sprint another ten. I wasn’t punishing myself for toying with the idea of cheating myself out of my workout- a negative cannot and should not be corrected by another negative. Instead, the added sixth of a minute, although barely conquered with teeth ground shut, served to prove that my limits were not as limiting as I had thought.

Harder this time, I sucked in as much air as my lungs would allow, aware that I was “that person” in the gym with the audible working-out soundtrack blasting “Erika’s Inhale-Exhale” on repeat. Hidden in the pained wince of my face was also a subtle smile from the pride i felt for getting through it all.

As I dismounted from the treadmill, I felt a buzzing energy in my legsthat I could easily have mistaken for/settled to call fatigue. My aim was to push my abilities to high levels and my wobbly legs were proof that I had met that. Much like the positive pain I referred to in a previous post, the soreness in the muscles of my legs was welcomed and earned. To the uninvited negativity that nearly made me quit before I was ready to, I vow to raise my personal bar even higher, yet, partially as a mockery of the nay-saying voice… try and stop me now.

Body Viving and Dropping the Ball

Saturday 4/28

It’s no secret that the gym is a favorite place of mine. Saturday, I rushed out to my gym at a particularly early 8:45 in the morning to make it to a featured master class, Body Vive. Inevitably, there will be many future posts on things I am grateful for pertaining to my gym, but on this day, I learned how thankful I was to be able to laugh at myself.

When trying new things, there is always a learning curve where mistakes will be made and perfection is not expected. Thank goodness! Growing up, I constantly felt the pressure to never make a mistake and carried the expectation to be perfect (now, I understand my parents’ intentions were to push me to reach my highest potential, not to cause me stress… yet another thing I am thankful for, in retrospect). This forgiveness to err that I’ve adopted towards myself was much called for during Body Vive’s 55 minutes of new steps and movements.

Regardless of my unfamiliarity with the class, I took a spot, front and center, directly face-to-face with the instructor, my Body Vive ball within reach. My first thought was “Gosh, I hope I don’t drop that ball and make a fool of myself!” Of course, the self-fulfilled prophecy that it had become, not only did I drop my ball once, but lost it a second time! Initially, I felt embarrassed as I chased the ball as it rolled passed other less-butterfingers-prone Body Vivers, thinking I was probably the only klutz that lost her squishy, purple ball. I laughed it off and fell back in to formation.

A few steps later, we were instructed on a new move that had us turning in different directions, in (what was meant to be) unison. My feet fumbled beneath me as I mis-stepped, mis-turned, and mis-Vived.  Much to my delight, it seemed most of the room joined me in my confusion as we crashed into each other and bobbed when we should have weaved. At that moment, I unclenched my useless grip on attempted perfection and released it with a wave of laughter. Truth of the matter was, most people in the classroom that morning were just as new to the program as I was. I was NOT the only one making mistakes, stepping left when told to pivot right. But, I was the only one that thought my self-described epic errors made any difference!

After I realized the normalcy of my mistakes, I allowed myself to laugh at my missteps. I was able to enjoy myself as much as everyone else was enjoying the wonderful class and got an added ab workout from all the laughter. If I can’t laugh at my own mistakes, then I impose a sentence on myself to take life far too seriously. I guess you could say that on Saturday morning, in my first Body Vive experience, I learned a valuable life lesson to be grateful for the ability to laugh at myself, all stemming from dropping the ball- twice!

Fighters' Energy

A grey, rain-cloud covered sky on a particularly dreary Sunday morning makes sleeping in late and claiming residence on the couch an attractive option. Sunday morning, to me, means Body Combat- a 10:15, hour long, mixed martial arts group fitness class at the gym- and I wouldn’t have it any other way!

Group exercise classes are all fun and offer a great change of pace to a workout routine, but to purpose this class as solely a calorie-burner would be doing it a disservice. It is so much more than punching and kicking in unison- every week, I leave the class stronger- not only physically (and boy, is it an awesome physical challenge!) but mentally, as well. Today, my gratitude goes out to the class that leaves me completely breathless and drenched in sweat. The charge of a classroom filled with people, all fighting for the same goal of fitness is intoxicating. I feed off of the palpable energies of the other class participants around me, allowing it to push me farther and harder.

I would be a fool to not mention the role of the instructor, Lori, as she sets the tone, bringing out the best in each and every Body Combatter in the room. It amazes me to watch how one person can create a motivational wave amongst a consistently filled studio. The inspiration from the class sticks with me throughout the week as I hear her cues of not only which leg to kick with, but also to never stop fighting, never give up.

This class that has become a routine a part of my week. I always leave with a renewed appreciation for my body and a reminder of how strong I really am. The motivational vibration from yesterday morning’s class is still buzzing within me as I kick off my week and, without a doubt, it will help pull me through these next few sun-less, rainy days!