Please Keep Trying!

Going into the Y today, I was stoked to try out the new weight lifting regime Biff had shown me on Thursday. First, though, it was time to tackle my interval workout on the elliptical.

Amazingly, my muscles haven’t screamed in protest nearly as much as I initially thought they would. In fact, they didn’t complain one bit the past three times I’ve done the interval training. However, Leftie (my torn left knee) had a few words after my workout. My knee hurt rather badly considering I’ve been healing up well since I first injured it in July. In response to the sharp creaky jabs Leftie’s been directing my way: Shut up! Damn it Leftie, just shut up!!

About when Leftie started yammering, Rightie (an old knee injury in my right knee) added her two cents. Gaaa! Silence you bitches! Don’t make me break out the Vicodan on your asses!

Then the abs started their symphony of pain. You’re all against me! All except my gluts, hamstrings, quads and calves. They’re down.

In a show of solidarity, my upper body sided with my lower muscle groups and staunchly said nadda as I worked them out in the free weight area.

It was a brave show on my part (for me, mind you) to even enter the free weight of my own volition. The equipment reminded me of a dark, iron forest, like the kind featured prominently in children’s tales of horror (yes, Babes in the Woods is a horror story; ask any child who’s read it).

I honestly wanted to pretend I had wandered in there only to tie my shoe, and then run back to the assisted weight equipment when no one was looking. It’s true. I wasn’t as familiar with the area as I wanted to be and knew I’d drop weights or violate some unspoken free weight taboo.

I felt as though the men huddled around the equipment were from some superior tribe, judging my worth to even approach the bench press: “Verily, she doth only lift 15 on the flat press, she is weaaaaakkkkk!”

Yeah, well, 15 or 115, I still mastered my fear of failure and looking like a newbie doof in the free weight area. I stayed there for 30 minutes and finished my routine. I even asked a few people for a some pointers, giving away my total newbie-ness.

Who cares if some meat head gives me (what I think) is a nasty smirk. I don’t lift for him. I don’t lift for the tiny gal next to me who (I think) looks at me funny for easily curling 12 when she’s struggling with 5. Don’t care, don’t care, don’t care. I should spend less time thinking what I can’t do and projecting my assumptions, and more time doing, then I can achieve more with my goals.

It just goes to show you some pain isn’t even physical. Fear is painful. It builds and builds and builds until it paralyzes you as thoroughly as any injury. I got out of my comfort zone and confronted my fear. No one likes to do that, but I have so much at stake, I don’t care how painful something is; if it needs doing it gets done.

They say no pain, no gain. I couldn’t agree more.