I was sick this week. I had a nasty virus that caused all sorts of gastrointestinal issues and I didn’t eat a bite for nearly six days. And I know, without a doubt, that you could break my spirit with torture in about five seconds because it takes only a few hours of a stomach bug before I’m praying for death.
I am weak.
When I was finally better I was REALLY better. I mean, I felt great. I couldn’t figure out why I felt so fantastic after five days of misery. Then, I realized why: I was no longer sick and I was no longer sore in my muscles either. You see, I go to the gym virtually every day so I am–at all times–just a little bit sore (or sometimes a lot) somewhere in my body. This is a life well lived though, isn’t it? If you’re doing it right you’re always pushing yourself to be just a little bit stronger than you were the day before. When I go to the gym and I feel well enough to push, well then, I’m going to push myself.
I am strong.
And that means I’m always sore.
When I finally got back to the gym this week the trainer at the front desk apparently took notice of my physique and she sent me a text to say it looks like I’ve lost a lot of weight. She doesn’t know I’ve been sick with a stomach bug! I appreciate her encouragement but it’s not about weight loss for me. It’s about strength.
When I see an instructor strike some crazy yoga pose I am left in awe and then I ask them how many years it took them to get to that posture. And then I know what I’m aiming for. “Okay, in three years I will be able to do a hand stand without shaky arms.” And I practice. With the heart of an opera singer, you never mind the practice.
We were recently doing this posture in the ropes, and I since I don’t exactly have a yogi body, I sometimes get smothered by my own cleavage in these inverted moves. It’s not a dignified death, but an honorable one? I’m pretty sure I look like a trussed up turkey.
I am weak but I’m working on it.