My Motivation

I've been fighting the motivation monster for the last few weeks. I've managed to stay on track, but if I am honest with myself, I would have to say that I haven't been going out of my way to push myself beyond my comfort zone. I've struggled almost daily with fights between the work-out angel on one shoulder and the red-horned sloth on the other shoulder, and while the angel won most of the arguments, the sloth won on occasion as well. The worst part is, even though I hate to admit it, the onset of my lack of motivation was directly linked to my husband's departure on his most recent work trip.

I've spent most of my married life, saying "Goodbye" to my husband. Up until two years ago, he was an active duty military officer. Long separations were part of the territory. I learned early on that if I wanted to live a fulfilled, happy life, I could not spend my life simply "waiting" for my husband to come home. Instead, I developed my own strategy for survival. I allowed myself a "Poor, Pity Me Day"  complete with pajamas all day long, Twinkies, ice cream, sad movies, and take-out. If the separation was for longer than a month, I would allow myself a few "Poor, Pity Me Days", but then I would kick things into high gear filling my days with as much as possible. The busier the better to pass the time with. After 9/11, the separations became longer and longer. Ultimately after deployments to Iraq and Afghanistan, we decided that Chuck had served his country well and it was time to serve his family. So he retired from the military and took a job with a consulting firm.

In the new job, travel was still involved, but he always managed to make it home for the weekends, and since he wasn't being shot at by anyone, as things go, it was an improvement. Three weeks ago, however, he got a request to help on a proposal team, and for the first time since retiring, he was heading out on an extended trip. I didn't greet the news with a particularly supportive attitude, but once the initial dismay wore off, I thought to myself, "No problem, I've been doing this for years! What's one three week trip when I was already a veteran of year long absences!" 

So imagine my surprise when after a few days, I realized my "Poor Pity Me" strategy for coping that had served me well for 25 years wasn't working anymore. I had to push and prod myself to make my work-outs, push and prod myself to get out of the house when the work day was over, and push and prod myself to get stuff done around the house. I was confounded. Why couldn't I get out of my funk? Was this an empty nest thing?  Where was the woman who held down the home front while juggling kids, job, family support groups and the inevitable crises that arose when the spouses were away? I knew she was in there somewhere, but I was having a hard time finding her.

This past Monday I woke up and decided it was time to kick the attitude. After work I decided to hit a movie instead of staying home and as I sat in the theater waiting for it to start, it finally occurred to me that the problem wasn't that I had lost my ability to cope, I had simply lost my patience for it. When Chuck was on active duty, I lived with the expectation that he would leave for days, weeks, and months at a time, but when Chuck retired, I retired that expectation too, and with it the armor I had protected my heart with. It was an armor made up of a belief that while my husband served his country, I served it as well, only the service I provided was to keep the home front running so he could do his job without distractions.  I had packed that armor away with the uniforms and medals, and so in its absence, I found myself struggling to find meaning in a separation that didn't seem to have one. I could rise to the occasion for the greater good, but I was finding it difficult to rise to the occasion to support a paycheck; however, appreciative I was for it.

And just like that I found my motivation again. This wasn't about a paycheck, this was about a person. This was about supporting the person who always supported me. If this trip was important to Chuck, it was important to me too. The next day, I kicked @#$ on the Kettles, and even made it to another movie after work with friends. I was back on track just in time for my husband's return, and I had found a new armor for this second phase of our lives. Hopefully, I won't have to take it out much, but it was nice to know it was there if I needed it.

Something New

Last week I picked up a pedometer, so I could start trying to keep a more accurate tally of exactly how far I was walking on a regular basis each day. I tracked it for two whole days, and then forgot to attach it when I ran out the door Saturday morning to pick up my daughter from the ER. I spent the better part of the weekend hovering over my daughter after her first seizure in seven months. It's not that she needed me too; rather I needed to. I wanted to erase her pain and disappointment. She had passed the magic deadline and had a driver's license in her sights; I knew this was going to hit her hard. I could remind her that there was a time when we counted days between seizures instead of months, but while I knew she was thankful for how far she had come, like any other 24 year old, she still wanted the independence her own vehicle could provide her.  So I stayed near in case she needed me, and provided the little comfort she allowed me to give.

Monday morning, as I headed out the door to work, I went to find my pedometer to start keeping track again, only to discover that at some point during my prolonged absence on Saturday, my puppy had managed to find something new to play with. I added pedometer to the list of items I needed from the store and headed to work. After the sedentary weekend, I decided to fit in a few extra walks throughout the day. By the time I got home from work, Charlie was still not feeling her best, so instead of heading to the gym, I decided I would simply take Hines for a walk and then try out my new Kettle weight. I didn't expect to get a great work-out, but at least I would be able to work some of my muscle groups and that would make me feel less guilty about staying home.

I ripped open the package, and popped the DVD into the TV. I moved the furniture to give myself room to move, and then waited for the work-out to begin. It started nice and easy with some basic stretches. I was a little surprised, because I really had just expected an instructional video. Here is how to do exercise A, B, C, etc....instead, I realized it actually was a full work-out video routine incorporating the kettle. The first few moves seemed easy enough, but as we started into multiple repetitions, I found myself starting to breathe heavier very quickly. Ten minutes into the routine and I was huffing and puffing! I was frankly amazed, and was slightly relieved when the instructor pointed out that even seasoned athletes had difficulty in the beginning with these routines because they worked the body in a much different way than the other more traditional cardio routines people were used to.

I had to adjust my reps on certain exercises and fore go an exercise that pulled my back, but overall by the time I stopped, I had gotten in one very good work-out. My guilt was completely gone, and I was pleasantly surprised that I had found something new and challenging to turn to. The routine had worked all of my muscles and my heart as well.  The only down side that I could see was the slight fear that until I learned the routine by heart, my klutzy gene might strike, and in one of the many swinging motions involved, I would lose grip of the weight and fling it into the TV. (Mental Note: Always work-out in front of the TV my husband was lobbying for me to replace!)  This wouldn't be my every day routine, but it was definitely going to be a go-to routine on days that I had less time for my work-out or on days where the gym just was a trip too far.

The world seemed just a bit brighter, and once again I found myself calmed by a work out. It's taken me 46 years to get wise, but I'm finally figuring things out.

Slow and Steady wins the Race

Wednesday I finally made it back to the gym for the first time since round two of my bronchitis. I had continued walking through much of the illness, but had been forced to slow my efforts considerably as I  had been instructed by my doctor not to do anything beyond slow walks until I had completed the entire course of my second round of antibiotics.  It felt good to be able to hit the gym after so much time away, and I found that the slight apathy that had crept into my workouts pre-bronchitis had faded into the background with the renewed appreciation of good health.

Perhaps it was simply a by product of my renewed interest, but it seemed as I glanced around the gym, that everywhere I looked, some aspect of each person's work-out routine was catching my eye. The person on the treadmill next to mine wasn't simply walking, she was pumping 10 lb weights in each hand to match her strides. At the far end of the gym, one of the physical trainers was having his trainee do some sort of routine that seemed so complicated that I doubted that she would be able to replicate it once she had no trainer reminding her of the next step, and the women on the Ab machine's face was flushed such a deep red and she was sweating so profusely that I was seriously concerned that the next crunch was going to end with her clutching her chest.

I was struck by the differing routines and levels of efforts around me, and I randomly found myself thinking "Slow and steady wins the race". The person next to me on the treadmill only managed about ten minutes on the machine before she had to stop. The person working with the trainer had a defeated look in her eyes by the end of her session, and it occurred to me that I probably would never see her in the gym again. While the person on the Ab machine thankfully made that her last stop of the day.

Clearly every individual person is the best judge of what works for them, but as I surveyed the gym I found myself thinking that this penchant to overcomplicate the process or over reach didn't seem to be working for any of the three individuals I was looking at. None of them were in excellent shape. The person next to me on the treadmill may have simply been doing short bursts of cardio weight training and that had been her last for the day, but it was hard to imagine that the ten minutes she spent walking with weights gained more than the forty five minutes I spent walking pumping my arms. The women on the AB machine completed one short set before she walked away,  and I found myself wondering if she had used less weights or perhaps crunched a little slower, could she have achieved more. Was that short set on a weight machine more effective than the 250 crunches I did laying on a mat in the back room? Perhaps, I wasn't really sure. The women with the trainer was definitely sending off the "I'm done with this vibe". The trainer seemed to be completely oblivious to her deer in the headlights look and kept pushing her to do more and more complicated combinations of weight/cardio exercises. By the end, the only thing she reaped from spending time with that trainer was convincing herself she couldn't be successful. I was sure she would not be coming back. What she had needed wasn't whistles and bells, but a simple path to improving her fitness level that she could manage eventually on her own.

In the past I have almost always made the mistake of overshooting my goals. I let my ego lead the way, and I would start by trying to run instead of walking only to injure myself, or instead of starting with the smallest weights when I hadn't lifted for months, try and lift where I had left off the last time I tried to get fit. Inevitably I would end up ridiculously sore for days and sabotage my own progress. I would buy the unlimited monthly yoga pass thinking I would go every day only to go twice a month and waste money better spent on other things. What I've learned on this journey is: Simple definable goals minus ego plus simple, fun routines plus steady schedule = healthier girl for now.

A Slow Day

It doesn't happen very often that I find myself twiddling my thumbs for any length of time on the normal work day, but yesterday was one of those days. The phone wasn't ringing, the e-mail was sporadic and projects were held at bay waiting on information from other people. It was one of those days that we all dream of when the phone is ringing off the hook and our in box is overflowing, but when the day actually comes, it drives us up a wall. The clock moved at a snail's pace, and the day seemed to last a week. I worked on cleaning up old e-mails, cleaning out old files, and found my self circling the building of my office multiple times throughout the day to hasten it's end and take advantage of the weather.

On one of my many mini-outings that day, I started pondering how far I was really walking on these jaunts, and how were they adding to my efforts. It was a beautiful day, but we were on the precipice of cooler weather. Certainly it was going to be more of a challenge to keep up the efforts when the weather went south and a quick walk outside wouldn't feel so refreshing. How was I going to combat the natural urge to hibernate?

As luck would have it, apparently I wasn't the only one pondering the problem. It wasn't too much later that I stumbled across an article from Dr Oz on just that subject. Of course his primary advice was that you have to keep moving. Move your walking inside, take the long way through the grocery store to pick up your items, park farther away from the front door to force yourself to walk a little farther, and buy a pedometer, so you can keep track of how far you are really walking each day. When the trend slows, pick up the pace!

So last night I headed to Target and purchased my first pedometer. I also grabbed a Kettle ball on a whim.  It was time to start getting some weights for the house on those days when the gym was a car ride too far. Interestingly enough one of the targets that Dr Oz suggested was 10000 steps a day.  I have always thought of my walks in distance not steps, but it certainly provides a more visible image of how it impacts your body to think of the goal in steps. 10,000 seems like an enormous amount, and when you look at it over time it makes more of an impact. 70,000 steps a week, 300,000 steps a month, and 3,650,000 steps a year.

So my plan is to start exploring the idea in principle. Is 10000 steps enough? Will it seem easy or hard? Have I been walking anywhere near that on a regular basis? The truth is I don't know exactly how active or non-active I am each day on a regular basis. If I get to the gym, I know exactly how many miles I put in for that work out, but beyond that who knows, and one of the things I have come to recognize is it isn't enough to simply hit the gym four to five times a week. You have to look for ways to incorporate activity every day.

Rollercoasters

I have never been a huge fan of roller coasters. I hate that point at the top of the ride when you suddenly crest the ridge  and you are keenly aware that within seconds you will be plummeting madly towards the ground not really knowing if your cart will stay fixed to the rails or go careening wildy off the edge. Even though those few seconds only comprise a small portion of the ride, they are enough to sour the experience for me. I find I just don't get my kicks out of scaring myself. I don't like sky diving, bungee jumping or base jumping either. It's not that I'm not adventurous, just not into adventures that bring gut wrenching drops.

This past year has been a bit of a personal roller coaster ride. There have been a lot of ups and downs and twists and turns. I find I'm not much of a fan of roller coaster rides in my personal life as well, but unfortunately, I can't just choose to skip the ride; I'm already on it. This journey I am on has helped mitigate the problems. It has provided a great outlet for stress as well as a needed distraction at times. Unfortunately, every roller coaster has those drops that all you can do is hang on tightly while you race towards the next valley. When I'm hanging on, it's a bit harder to write, and it is mostly during those times that my writing slows down.

This last month I've definitely been in a free fall; I've been challenged both physically and mentally. I've been fighting Bronchitis for over a month and have seriously struggled to find the right balance between pushing myself and allowing myself to rest and recuperate. I've had good days and bad days, productive days and unproductive ones, successes and failures. One thing that has become clear to me though is that on this personal quest there will be no finish line marking the end of my journey, no trumpets or prizes announcing my win, no holy grail waiting for me at the end. I'm not going to wake up one day to suddenly discover that I am that super fit girl on the cover of Self magazine and be able to pronounce an end to my journey. It has to be a journey for life. It is going to be an ongoing process with ups and downs, highs and lows and things that make me feel uncomfortable, but this is one roller coaster ride I won't be walking away from. I simply can't afford to.