I have to tell you this, because if I tell my husband one more time he may stop smiling politely and haul off and punch me in my round little face:
I am so freaking proud of myself!
Driving home with the windows down at 8:30 this morning – on a Saturday morning, mind you – I couldn’t stop smiling.
I did it.
I finished my first week of workouts.
I worked out – and worked out hard – six straight mornings in a row.
Including Saturday morning.
Including Monday morning when the alarm went off at 5:00 am and I thought “hmmm… maybe it would be better to do this later, after dropping Emma off at preschool.”
Including Wednesday morning when I couldn’t feel my damn arms and I reminded myself that “the book said that even the ‘champions’ have skipped a workout occasionally.”
Including Thursday morning when I hit snooze once and found myself staring at the numbers 5:15 blinking on my alarm clock thinking, “well, you’re already late, you probably don’t even have time to get done before Jared has to leave for work… you could just scratch it. Everybody skips a workout once in a while.”
But every day, for six days in a row until the six days added up to finishing week one, I did it.
This morning, half way through my 20 minute interval aerobic workout on the elliptical machine, I almost quit. I was so damn tired, and I’d already done so much already. The big loud voice in my head assured me that giving up now would simply mean that I had a low point to build on. “You have 12 weeks! You can quit now and look back in 12 weeks and be excited that you got better with time! And you went to the gym today – no one will even know that you quit after 10 minutes… or 15 minutes.. or… seriously, at any point now you can quit and still be proud of yourself!”
But the little, much quieter voice wouldn’t give up.
“You’ll know,” it said. “You’ll know that you’re quitting because you’re tired and because you just don’t want to – not because you can’t go on. You’ll know that you let yourself down, even if no one else knows.”
I finished all 20 minutes and hit the magical “high point” that each workout is designed around. My arms and legs tingled, sweat was pouring off my forehead beneath my pink Green Bay Packers cap, and my face was as red as it’s ever been. I was, I’m certain, the most unattractive person in that fancy, state-of-the-art gym – but I was beaming. There may have even been a hint of a spring in my hobbled gait.
I did it.
And yes, I have 11 more weeks to go. I’m not even 10% of the way through my 12 week goal, but I’m thrilled with myself just the same. I’m thrilled because I know how many times during the past 6 days I came >this< close to taking the easy way. Over and over again I was tempted to just go through the motions, to listen to my very well thought out and reasonable excuses. But I pushed through and did more than complete a week’s worth of exercises – I did what I knew was my absolute best for six. straight. days.
I’m six days closer to proving to myself that I’m not a quitter, and I couldn’t be prouder. Yes, damn right, I’m proud of myself. And we may live in a world where we are told over and over again that it’s not OK to be proud of ourselves, that humility and grace and being a good person means putting your head down and quietly avoiding letting anything “go to our heads” – but not today. Today I am grinning from ear to ear and pumping my fists in the air and shouting, “I DID IT!”
Tomorrow I will relish my built in “free day”. I will sleep until my body or my children wake me and I will eat whatever the hell I want. I will roll around in my hard earned gluttony and enjoy every single minute of it. And Monday I will start all over again, no doubt armed with a new set of very well thought out and reasonable excuses, including “you did so well the first week, who could blame you for slacking off now? You’ll always have week one!” But I’ll deal with that obstacle when I get to it.
Today I will finish out the day with my nutrition plan and allow myself this one. whole. day to be proud.
Because, I did it!