|back to 'therapy'|
May 22, 2020
I know I've been writing a lot of stuff here about the government and the pandemic, but that isn't why I started this journal; it was supposed to be a place where I could record thoughts about external change rather than the day to day of life in my other journal. The lines seemed to have crossed back and forth over time. But, I'd like to bring it back to what I created it for.
That said, in an attempt to get my mind and my body back in alignment, I went back to the gym...the day after they reopened. It's the bro gym...a gritty, grunt and testosterone-fueled, bulging bicep, sort of space. It is not user friendly like the purple and yellow no-judgment chain. You have to know what you're doing there and why. I'm okay with that.
It's no secret that after I left isi, I was lost. I seriously felt like I got a divorce from them. It hurt. I suffered mentally and physically...then I gave up completely. If I couldn't find a trainer, I'd just be one. I'd be okay. I don't need to work out. My muscles began to atrophy. My knees hurt all the damn time. My quads got weak, so going up or down the stairs was a fucking chore. The weigh came back, slowly, but I was miserable.
Sure, after my cortisone shots I could walk for exercise, but it's not the same. Then it was Spring Break, and the shutdown; for days and days it seemed all I did was spend time with school stuff, watch TV, or play games on my phone. Some days, I didn't even go outside or shower. I can't imagine months of this. I'd be a babbling vegetable.
Here's what happened. I went on Wednesday. I did a light body-weight workout, and I felt good about it, even though I was anxious about going in, and had a mini-meltdown before doing so. It was nothing, nothing like what I used to do...probably a warm-up by those standards. But that little switch flickered a little. The one that says "Yesssss, you crave the movement, the pace, the music, the sweat...you remember, right?" I didn't go Thursday because I had a headache; the barometric pressure gets to me sometimes.
And then today, I went. 40 minutes or so; upper-body work and a nice stretch sesh. My head is clear. And, on the way home, it hit...that little switch was full-on..."Yaaaaaaas queen, you feel it, right? The blood pumping, the weeniest bit of endorphins and dopamine surging through the muscles of your arms and chest?" Why, yes brain, I do feel that. I do remember wanting to tear the bumper off of a Buick not in anger but because I'm strong enough to do so. Fold assholes in half...sure, let's do it!!
So, I asked myself, "Self, why do you let all this other shit stand in your way? No one is coming to rescue you. isi isn't going to change their 'ideal.' The perfect trainer doesn't exist. Don't you miss the movement, the function, the clarity, the purpose? Can't you tap into your own knowledge of your body and physical movement?" Mostly, I remember leaving all life's bullshit on the mat. What I can't get out in words, I can release in controlled physical enforcement.
There's confidence, determination, resilience, grounding, positive aggression, and emotional release. Dig for it. Find it...again. Henry Rollins said, "I like working out alone. It enables me to focus on the lessons the iron has for me." It sounds a bit like therapy to me. So be it.