Some stats from yesterday.
The good news is I got back into the gym. Hooray!
The bad news is it didn’t matter what I felt I was up for.
It didn’t matter how hard the adrenaline was pumping.
It didn’t matter how fast I wanted to go. Or what song was on.
I was reminded that things are not the same quite yet. Not even close. And boy is it going to be a long road back.
You have no idea how hard that is for me to swallow, especially when I knew that but I didn’t actually BELIEVE that. I rarely believe in limits, especially the ones my body gives me.
I’m not sure what I was expecting on my first trip back to the gym. I suppose I was actually just going for feeling good. And I was thinking that the feeling good would lead to keep going and the keep going would lead to I’M BACK! Which I suppose just by being there is partially true.
Just, well, slower.
It was the first time I put on my sneakers, even, in 7 weeks. I danced in the car all the way there and the kids sang with me. They love the gym kid care, fortunately for me. Of course they didn’t behave at all and I had the mean kids at the gym but that’s neither here nor there. (Mother of the year, here.)
So I started out in a brisk walk and I felt comfortable. I got to 3/4 of a mile and with 1/10th of a mile left, I picked it up and ran. I’m running! Look at me, mom!
But oh, how it hurt.
The one scar above my navel lit up like it was on fire and what’s left of my guts felt like they were going to drop right out of my vag onto the treadmill and fly off the back.
If I’m being honest. Which I am.
Later that night, when I was recanting the experience in my head and here on the computer and my husband saw my face as I was writing, he came over and sat next to me and said, “You know it’s not because of your fitness level, right?” And I pouted.
He reminded me that it’s really not me on the treadmill. That it’s not my fitness level that allowed me to only run a painful 1/10th of a mile instead of going at it like a bat out of hell.
It’s my innards. As if my innards are still saying to me, “Hey Christie, it’s not you, it’s me.”
It’s just hard to know that just over 7 weeks ago I swam a mile, biked 25 and then ran 6, all in a row and now I have a hard time running 1/10th of a mile. Ya know?
Of course as things heal, I’ll go further. And further.
My head knows this but you know how I just love waiting and how not being able to do something makes me feel like somewhat of a failure. Even though I know that I am not.
I’m not sure why I equate how far and fast I run to whether or not I am back or not, actually. Or even how fast I can bounce back. I suppose that’s actually absurd. And if we’re looking at bright sides here, which we are, the good news is, I haven’t gained any weight throughout this whole thing. Hurrah! I haven’t lost any either, which actually is sort of a bummer, I mean, it would have been a nice added benefit since there are so few side-benefits to this thing. I mean, some people report 10 pound losses from hysterectomies! Is that too much to ask? Who am I kidding though, I am never that person. Darnit. My body hangs on to every fat cell for dear life.
That’s one official workout down. My first.
30 full minutes of sweating.
And I really missed sweating. It felt freaking great to sweat.
So, in sum, my task: Not ok with going slower? GET OK with going slower!
And repeat after self: I am worth the wait.
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