Can Fitness Be Sidelined?

You might think you know the answer to that question. Fitness can be sidelined, we say, because Crazy Job, because New Relationship, because Babies Be Babies*.

Ok, yeah. But no.

It's been about 5 years since I contributed to this blog, mainly because I stopped contributing to my fitness. After a series of really annoying injuries and issues (at one point I had a tweaky right knee and a painful left shoulder, which pretty much put me out of any game) I decided to hit the pause button. 

Damn that pause button. It's sneaky - it says Pause then changes to Stop, and life doesn't have a helpful transitional screen saver. Eventually I stopped feeling the need to work out, lost the giddiness of a personal best, misplaced the delicious habit of knowing my own metrics by heart. My V02, heart rate zones, target rpms and pace per mile, almost as dead as the dodo. 

Almost. Because the real answer to the question is this: No, your fitness cannot be sidelined.

Once you have a sense of your own fitness, once that is stamped onto your DNA, injected into your bloodstream, embedded under your skin or tattooed on the back of your neck, that sense doesn't leave you. Your fitness habit will slip next to you in the soft gentle light some dawn and like a delicate kiss, whisper "You're going to age really badly and that's not what I had planned..."

Then it will taunt you when you rise from a good night's sleep and don't feel rested, stand accusingly when you notice your gut popping over your jeans and laugh like an ass when you face plant on the sidewalk.

When we interpret fitness as physical beauty, sculpted abs or Perfect-Butt-in-30-Days! we miss a crucial point. Fitness is feeling incomparable. Fitness is being energized. Fitness is balance, flexibility, grace in handling life's weird twists. Fitness is us: happy.

After a frustrating and stressful job, never feeling quite rested, massaging my waist fat like it was bread dough and quite literally falling flat on my face on Howard Street to great humiliation (Hi guys across the street at Kate O'Brien's, drinking beer and watching me bleed) and expense (emergency room, ambulance, stitches), it finally dawned on me during that delicate dawn kiss that I really missed being fit.

So I'm back at it. New personal metrics, adjusted zones, different targets. My former personal best will stand, but not quite as high on the scale as the simple act of taking my fit self off pause.


*My Tiny90 blog partner, Sara, just had her second baby. She kept running until a month before her due date and will likely start running again the very minute she can. Babies be Babies, but Mom Needs a 3-Mile Run, Dammit :-)

The Wall and the Moment

In any strenuous endurance event - triathalon, marathon, holidays with the family - two significant internal conversations can arise. I call them The Wall and The Moment. The Wall is the feeling that you cannot go one step further, and The Moment is the decision that you will not give up. I find that they usually go hand-in-hand, and can have different meanings, but don't always happen in the same order.

Ten years ago I experienced a significant Moment: I tried to put on a small necklace that I adored and it wouldn't fit around my neck. It was a shock - I...had a fat NECK?! I'd noticed I was gaining weight, but I hadn't had The Moment: I was pudgy, and I didn't want to go down like that. I decided to dramatically shift gears.

So I trained for a marathon! And I gained 10 lbs! No, it wasn't muscle. (I love it when people suggest weight gain is muscle. I know our culture of denial flourishes like mold in a damp corner, but ten pounds of muscle feels great, and ten pounds of fat feels like weight gain.)

Anyway, I was profanely disgusted. After researching why I had gained after six months of training (in short, it was high-glygemic post-run foods, the myth of "I ran 10 miles, I can eat anything!" and no interval training), I joined an endurance training program, living its lessons and using its tools for the next five years. The Moment had happened, I giddily realized, and I would never go back: I was dedicated to a lifetime of fitness.

Doesn't that just scream "CHANGE COURSE! WALL APPROACHING!"?

This is what The Wall looked like: My life was wrapped around hours and hours of training and suddenly I really, really just wanted to drink beer and eat potato chips without having to calculate the pace, distance and Borg level of exertion I'd need in order to burn it off. So I pushed the "Pause" button and wandered off.

Bad idea. Three years later, I was in worse shape than I was before my fat-neck ephiphany. I wasn't just heavier and older, I was beginning to experience a kind of weakness that whispers to you like The Ghost of Feebleness to Come.

I needed another Moment, and it came from an odd place - it came from the same Wall that I'd hit years before. Musing to a friend about what had changed me from rabid workout freak to couch potato, I suddenly realized what had built The Wall. I had been committed to the classes, programs, events and teams of my training, but - careful, Oprah moment approaching - I had abandoned my commitment to myself. I'd lost a wheel and careened off the path of Doing This For Me into the mud hole of Doing This To Do It.

Seth and Amy might as well have performed a "Really?!" skit in my face: "Really. You thought personal fitness was just about fixing a fat neck. Really. You did all that work, learned all that crap about V02, BMI, RMR, heart rate zones and memorized the glycemic index because your chin had quintuplets...Really?!"

No. I trained because it felt great to climb mountains I didn't know I could climb, because I could run from my office to the Golden Gate Bridge just to watch the sun set, because it was exciting to challenge and test and care for this incredible machine that was mine and only mine.

That was what it took. Two days later I was cranking through the first week of P90X Lean, sore, crawling up stairs, weary and kinda happy. Revelatory gift of The Moment? Life is an endurance event too (duh) and walls are only there to be busted through. Really.