Scared

From www.123rf.com 

No wonder why so many people have a hard time sticking to exercise programs. I’m somewhat of a veteran compared to most gym-goers and yet I have to confess that The. Gym. Is. Scary. It scares the living crap out of me. Every day.

The following is an admission of my fears and my failure.

Let’s start from the beginning.

About 9-months ago I sprained my knee and was sidelined from soccer and the hours and hours of cardio that we women love to do. Inspired by all my fitness friends, I decided to pick up weightlifting.

This was a scary first step. First of all, in my gym the women congregate around the treadmills and ellipticals and the men stick to the machines and free weights. Venturing into “that area” (the weights) meant I was typically either the only woman or one of three women lifting. The men were never rude or lewd—but you can tell that they’re always watching. I’d like to think that a.) I’m hot shit despite the fact that I haven't shaved my legs recently and b.) I have perfect form, but I know both are untrue. Maybe it’s like seeing the Loch Ness Monster—women are so rare in “that area” that the guys can’t stop staring.

So, I sucked it up and started lifting a couple times a week while following a vague program I found online. I literally had to talk myself over to the weights each time because it was scary. Lifting was new and different. Luckily, I quickly got the movements down and was feeling more confident. But after a while I knew I wasn’t getting stronger. Eventually my workouts digressed to the point that even a light day left me exhausted and unwilling. I felt like crap all the time—in or out of the gym.

I decided I’d had enough. I hired a trainer on November 1. Dave set up a great program with tons of movements and options. He specifically directed that if an exercise hurt or if I felt worse then I should stop immediately. Great. Sounds good. Whatever.

 “Updates? Successes? Progress? Questions?”

The first workouts went great. I felt strong, motivated, and I only had a few questions which were quickly answered. But a week and a half into the program and only a handful of workouts done, I got sidetracked. Again. Dave emailed me on Monday morning and asked how everything was going. “It’s been three weeks,” he said. “Updates? Successes? Progress? Questions?” I feigned that I was “too busy” to respond and dodged him for two days. In the end, I had to answer to him—and I had to answer to myself.

Why did I lose track after such a short time? It comes down to this…

I got scared.

The “what-ifs” overtook me. What if it doesn’t work? What if I can’t stick to it? What will people think of me? Why do I have to carry this stupid notebook around and track everything—do I look like an idiot? What if I don’t get stronger/leaner/better?

So I went back to what was easy and comfortable. I started running again and playing a million soccer games every week. Isn’t this how I got injured in the first place? Isn’t this how I lost track? I didn’t care. It was comfortable.

“Claire, I'm not mad; I'm just disappointed.”

I finally confessed to Dave that I got sidetracked. I literally asked him to yell at me. “I deserve it,” I said. Instead, Dave used the “d-word.” He explained, “Claire, I'm not mad; I'm just disappointed.” He asked how we can adjust the program. What will work better? How can I become more motivated? Even though I still wish he yelled at me, this struck home. The “d-word” is worse than yelling, tears, denial… everything. He’s disappointed in me and more to the point, I’m disappointed in myself.

Ouch.

“You just got not to be so… scared.”

I’m going to have to suck it up and conquer these fears. In one of my favorite movies, Strictly Ballroom (a chick flick, I know), the mother says to her daughter in a thick Spanish accent, “You just got not to be so… scared.”

The gym is scary. New programs are scary. Life is scary. But I can overcome my self-imposed obstacles and get better.

I'm going to hit the gym. I'm going to confidently use the free weights and carry around my little notebook. But in the meantime, I’m still going to avoid the gym crowds and hit the weights at 5:30 am or 9:30 pm. I may be getting stronger, but I can’t move mountains yet.

Soreness is next to Godliness

My knee is mostly healed. I can work out! I feel like a complete person again! And...

I'm sore.

I'm really, really sore.

As in, my typical 5-mile runs are now a 2-mile waddle and I can barely walk up a flight of stairs the next day.

But the soreness is refreshing. It means I can move again; and more importantly, it means that I'm getting stronger. Honestly, I'm a weakling. (I think I could bench more as a 110-lb sophmore in high school than I can bench now.)

With my injury, I've had to develop new workouts and methods. It makes going back to the gym fun and exciting. Routines can get old and stale quickly. The treadmill is boring as hell. BoooOOOOoooring. My new fun treats: weightlifting and yoga.

Let me be clear: I Will Not Look Like A Body Builder From Weightlifting! It doesn't work that way. Need me to say it again? I Will Not Look Like A Body Builder From Weightlifting! To further my point, I'll let the guys do the talking:

From my favorite egomaniac, Dave:
Hey, Chicks, You're Doing it Wrong
These Chicks are Doing it Right

Also, this is the general lifting program I'm following.

Here's my typical routine:

Monday, Wednesday, Friday
6:00 am, ride my bike to the gym--Weightlifing and Running/Elliptical
Each day is a different split: Chest/Triceps; Legs/Shoulders; Back/Biceps
I'm gonna be honest: lifting weights among the guys is hot. H-a-w-t. I could be wearing old, oversized soccer clothes or some great Under Armour capris that show off my booty and the stares are the same. It's unanimous from the male species: girls lifting weights is hot. And my close-up view of the men ain't too bad either.

Want to know what else is fun? Biking. Except the stares aren't the same. Bomb downhill to the gym on your bike at 5:30 am with no cars to be seen. Then, after a brutal leg workout, try to ride home--uphill--with a million vehicles making their 7:30 am commute. Meanwhile, all the drivers are staring at your slow, wobbly ass. I swear that people walking their miniature poodles are faster than I am on that bike. I passed by a road speed sign once--I was going 8 mph. That's right, 8. Booyah!

Moving on...

Tuesday, Thursday
6:00 am--Yoga video at home
Here's another misconception: Yoga is not for pansies. I can repeat that again, but I'll spare y'all. Done right, yoga kicks your ass. I suffer through the beginner's video. The burning, shaking, I-refuse-to-let-that-cougar-in-the-video-beat-me kind of suffering. That's right, lady-with-the-fringed-bangs. You're going down!

With all the cooking I've been doing lately, I need the gym. This way I can have my cake and eat it, too.