I have a fickle relationship with exercise.
I say that knowing I have a super-tolerant body. It’s not a bikini body by any means but I know my quads are strong. I trust that my heart will pound in protest but still get me up Vail pass. My knees? Well, they were good while they lasted.
I am also not a committed athlete….and I use the word athlete loosely. During marathon training, I found a glazed donut to be the perfect combination of carbs and fat.
Protien shake? Heck no! Jelly donut? Bring it.
I am the non-conforming worker-outer.
But I do know, I am better when I sweat. My head is clear when my heart beats fast.
As I get older, I appreciate this flawed, unperfect body even more.
And I as I get older, I realize, this body is getting older too.
Eight weeks ago I tore my bicep muscle. It was a dumb move. I was reaching for something on a shelf, slipped on a wood floor and grabbed the upper shelf with my right arm.
Holy MAMA. It hurt. And bruised. I could move my arm so knew it was a partial tear but I also knew it needed rest. Swimming was out for a while. It turned purple and ached at night…..in truth, this scared me a bit….
Because it was so dumb!
I hurt myself on a shelf. And I can’t help but think that 25 years ago, this would not have been an issue.
And today, some movements are still a little angry, but I went back to Orange Theory. I made have wept a bit as I watched my SPLAT points add up, as my heart rate rose and as the angst in my head turned into strokes on a bike.
I kissed my bicep as it moved through exercises with little protest.
Bicep- you’re a good muscle and I find delight in you. I will never take you for granted or reach beyond my means on slippery floors.
You only get one of these bodies. As I get older, I realize mine is just fine.
Pass the jelly donuts.