It started as exhaustion and moved to anger.
Anger because I wish I’d stayed in bed.
Anger that I let my workouts slide – – – because it feels like I’m starting over.
Anger that it is hard work.
Angry that the person next to me doubles my reps in speed and breath.
Anger at myself for not being fast enough; strong enough.
For not being able to keep up.
For not being good enough.
For feeling weak.
The anger spilled over and made my eyes burn with tears that I couldn’t stop.
That I didn’t really want to stop.
I bit my lip and kept my eyes closed for the last of my reps.
I pushed through and finished.
Said thanks to the girls, zipped up my coat, got in my car
and cried all the way home.
Doesn’t that sound fun?! A workout and a emotional breakdown.
It is easy to forget my ‘why.’
Why I show up.
Why I want to be there.
Why I got out of bed at 5:30am.
I can get caught up in comparison.
Feelings of unworthiness.
But the anger that comes is something else.
I can feel the grip of emotions letting go of my muscles.
I can feel my walls crumbling down.
I can feel how exhausted I really am. Mentally, more than physically.
My “Why?” is physical therapy.
I’m there because my brain needs the chemical reaction to stay well.
I’m there because my body deserves to move.
I’m there because I want to be strong, inside as well as out.
I’m there because I want to feel alive.
I cried all the way home.
Obviously, I needed to.
I let go of all I’d been carrying inside, and left it all on the mat.
I’ll try again tomorrow.