Hate vs. Hate

There are people who genuinely enjoy working out. They thrive off of vigorous activity. I am not one of those people. I hate it. I find that the term "hate" is used far too often, but in this case it is apt. I hate the way my heart bumps in my chest so hard I feel like it's trying to jump right out of me. I hate that I get all red and sweaty. I hate that my legs get all trembly when I've worked hard. I hate the feeling that I can't suck in enough oxygen. All in all it is an incredibly unpleasant feeling. I don't understand for the life of me why people do it with such relish. I do, however, know why I do it in spite of the intense hatred I feel every time I step into the gym.

I work out because there are other things I hate. I hate my double chin. I hate my flabby arm flappers. I hate my kangaroo pouch. I hate that "shopping" with my friends is really just me following them around because I know good and well there's not a damned thing I can wear in normal clothing stores. I hate that people look at me and see a fat chick instead of the vibrant woman I am. I hate that every step in a stairwell reminds me of how much damage my weight is doing to my knees. I hate that I can't eat ice cream in public without thinking of fat jokes. The list goes on and on. And the list of things that I hate about being fat is far longer and much harder to fix than the gym list. So I go, because one day I just decided I didn't want to hate that much of me anymore.

I tend to believe that we are where we are in life due to our own complicity. Every moment is an option. Every moment we make a choice to act or not to act, and our lives to date are the elaborate tapestry that results from the subtle interweaving of these actions or lack thereof. In plain speak, I've done this to myself.  I decided to take a nap instead of a walk. I decided to eat a doughnut instead of an apple. My choices have led me here and my choices will lead me into a healthier lifestyle. Every decision I make to drive to the gym instead of my home is a step in the right direction. I intend to keep taking one step at a time. Hopefully one day I'll look up, as is usually the case, and find myself already at where I was going.

In that spirit I got back into the gym today and I'm really satisfied with my workout. I pushed myself today, and actually worked through the feeling of nausea when I pushed my heart rate above 170 for the third time. I'm going to start trying to do that more, pushing myself just a little beyond my limit. After all, if I never test my limits, I will never know them. If I don't know my limits, how can I expand upon them?