Stories We Tell (Ourselves)

There’s a distinct possibility that as I type this post, I’m still riding the endorphin high of my first kettlebell class. Tomorrow I might wake up and regret ever being born (this is my number one go-to joke, my parents think it’s hilarious*), but for now I feel unstoppable. I’ve been feeling like that a lot lately; this sense that I am strong and resilient. I’ve been planning to start doing more intense cardio and weight-bearing exercises for a while now, but I was afraid to actually start.

What I realized almost immediately after class today was how many times I have told myself over the past few months that I’m still weak. That I need this or that issue to get better before I start working with weights. Basically, I’ve been telling myself, “I can’t”. For at least a month now I’ve been getting in my own way.

There was absolutely a time when I should not have been doing anything as strenuous as kettlebell or boxing. Heck, there was a time when I needed to be careful not to walk too many miles in a day! I absolutely needed to focus on restorative exercises for an extended period of time. I needed to be gentle with myself and baby myself.

But now I realize that all that restorative self-care has born fruit. I’m doing really well, and I’m ready to shift gears into building strength and endurance. It was taking the initial plunge and signing up for that first class that was the hardest part. I had to trust that I knew myself well enough at this point to know that if I was doing something harmful to myself that I would stop.

It felt so amazing to walk out the studio door this morning, on my wobbly legs, and tell myself how strong I’ve become. To stop that mental narrative of my own physical fragility in its tracks. Today I feel amazing. And tomorrow is my beloved yoga class.

*No they don’t. That’s my number two go-to joke.

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