Wednesday, April 29, 2009

Falling downstairs

Over the past 48 hours I've found myself weighing options at the top of every staircase I encounter. Option 1: take each step, one at a time, and give into the groans that refuse to be silenced. Option 2: Find an elevator or escalator, accepting a longer walk in exchange for the option of not groaning in public. Option 3: Scoot down on my butt. Or, Option 4: Fall.

True, option 4 has certain risks. And it really should involve at least a helmet. But on the other hand, if I can just land right the pain should be quick. Because taking each step one at a time causes my lactic acid soaked thighs to punish me, severely (oddly, going up is not nearly as painful). So, I have paused at that top step, and considered climbing over a banister or two. It's not THAT much of a drop, if I aim for the couch I'll probably be ok.

I remember when I first started bootcamp I was all peppy about that first week pain. It was novel. And I worked in a building downtown with an elevator. And I spent most of my day sitting in a desk chair. Now, working for myself and juggling a larger family I've got a lot more stairs to deal with and less time to coddle myself. Don't get me wrong, I'm proud of myself for jumping back in. I'm amazed at how two days of bootcamp has already made me feel sexier and stronger even though, objectively speaking, my size 14 jeans are still just as tight.

I could take it one step at a time. But, at least for me, the slow steps are more painful. If my goal is to get to the bottom of the stairs, if my goal is to get fit and feel strong again, then I'm ready to take my licks, bounce a few times, and get to the bottom with scars I can be proud of. I used to think that getting fit was all about will power and "taking control" or "making the connection". There is some of that involved in getting to the top step. But once I'm there, it's all about putting myself in my trainers' hands, and then letting go.

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