I never thought I would be the girl who enjoyed working out. I did it because I felt like I was supposed to, and I knew it was good for me, and my parents bought me a membership...every reason except actually wanting to. I never had fun with it, and I couldn't understand the people who thought it was fun. I thought they were out of their minds...lunatics. Working out? Puh-lease. I've got better things to do. Like read. Or sit around. And that bag of potato chips is calling my name. Kidding. Potato chips and I are no longer on speaking terms.
ANYWAY.
After a few training sessions, by Saturday I was ready to work out by myself. Everyone around me all seemed to know exactly what they were doing. And to make matters worse, they all were really good at it. I was feeling kind of hesitant, and pretty incapable, but my new workout pants were rooting me on. Cardio! Start with cardio! Get that body warmed up. I made my way over to the treadmill. A word on treadmills: they used to terrify me. I was never a runner, (when I tried cross country track in high school, they had to send people out on the trails to look for me), and my ankle/toothpicks don't like the pressure of running. But there I was, happily warming up on the dreaded machine. And you know what....it was kinda fun. Yup. There's that word...FUN.
After twenty minutes of interval walking/running, I was ready to get to the good stuff. I headed onto the floor, and went straight into the routine I had done on Day 1. My muscles were burning in protest, but I felt good. I did set, after set, focusing on my legs and abs. They weren't too thrilled about it, but I told them to suck it up and keep kicking ass, which they did.
After my whole floor and weight routine, I headed back to the evil(?) treadmill for more interval walking/running. Only this time, I noticed a change. The first 4 or 5 times I treaded the mills, I really struggled to maintain a steady pace. My trainer had me walking a lot, and then jogging in short spurts. But this time....oh, this time...I found that my endurance had increased. I was able to jog for a solid 5 minutes with 1-2 minute walking intervals between. And it was AMAZING. As my workout came to an end, I realized 2 hours had passed since I arrived at the gym. Wait what? Hold the phone....Erkle here, did I do that? Seriously. Did I really do that? Did I just spend two hours at the gym without realizing it?
And then did I squeeze in another workout on Sunday night, after coming home from working a 12 shift waitressing? And then did I go back Monday morning for an hour and a half? Yup. I did. And despite what I ever thought possible, I am loving it.
Today, the trainer told me I have a strong core. Who, me? I thought, chuckling to myself. Impossible. Yet there I was, doing weighted sit-ups like it was no problem. He should have seen me two months ago, when I could barely manage ten minutes on the elliptical. After three months in bed, my body was kind of like jello. (Which I ate in excess, and hated every bite. Sorry, but food shouldn't jiggle like that.) I've been finding motivation to push harder in so many places. Today, it came to me where I should have known it would always be. Penn State is home of the world's largest student run philanthropy-THON, which raises money to fight pediatric cancer. Every year, thousands of students participate. After months of fundraising, it all culminates in a 46 hour no sitting, no sleeping dance marathon. It benefits The Four Diamonds Fund, and the children who are supported by The Fund are absolute superheroes. They fight cancer. As I struggled to maintain a plank, (my arms were actually shaking) I remembered those children. I remembered what they go through every day, and suddenly, plank was easy. The rest of my workout was a breeze. I keep these children in my heart, and they push me to do more. They push me to be better.
I am on the path to becoming my best self. I am happy. I am contemplating going to the gym for a second time today. (Seriously, who am I?!) But above all, I am grateful. I have this body, this one body. And no matter how sore I get, or how much another set hurts...I will continue to push myself harder, because I can. Because it feels awesome. Because it's my body, and it's time I took care of it.
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