A Year Ago

My husband and I had a particularly good work-out Saturday morning. He ran a 10K outside while I put in four miles on the treadmill. I am a fair-weathered walker, so when it starts to get cold, I quickly migrate inside; he relishes the cool air in his face and continues to run outside until the sidewalks are covered in snow. We met up to lift weights after our run/walks. In between sets, he ruminated about how things had changed for him in the past few months. He remarked that a year ago, he never would have made a trip to the gym on the weekend, and he was sure he would have only managed one or two work-outs in the midst of a week involving three days of travel. This week, however, he had run a total of 27 miles, walked an additional four miles with me and pumped iron as well. A year ago, he would have began his day with a Coke and a Sausage McMuffin and ended his day with meat, potatoes and pasta.  This Saturday he started the day with a yogurt parfait and ended his day with grilled pork chops and vegetables.

The irony is a year ago, I think we both still considered Chuck to be far more dedicated to his fitness routine than the average man his age. While that may well have been true, it was also true that he had gradually allowed his work schedule to start dictating his work-out schedule. He still continued to run and work out regularly when he was in town, but he was typically on travel more days in a week than he was in the office. He combated this problem by staying at hotels with gyms so he could workout in his spare time, but as his traveled more and more often, he became less diligent about carving out time to use them. He still tended to try and eat healthier during the work week, but often got so caught up in work, he skipped meals and then compensated by eating larger portions when he did eat. They were all small shifts in his routine that weighed him down both literally and figuratively.

As I thought back to my life a year ago, I recalled a more dismal picture. Even though I was still paying dues to the last gym I had contracted with on one of my previous false starts, I certainly wasn't capable of a Saturday morning work-put at the gym. I was knee-deep in complications from my surgery and still sporting a PEG tube. My free time was spent mostly on the couch trying to save my energy to make it to work each week. The possibility of walking four miles in an hour would have been laughable.

As I wound up my work-out that morning, I found myself pushing just a little bit harder. I was incredibly grateful for how far I had come in a year, but what my husband's story proved was that staying fit took constant tending and continuing commitment.  While quitting assured failure, it seemed complacency could be dangerous as well.