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The biggest problem I have to deal with when it comes to my body, in all honesty, is my respiratory system. For all my little (and not-so-little) gripes and grumbles about aesthetics, physically, I'm mostly in decent shape. But a history of allergic bronchitis and a rather foolish incident with walking pneumonia while I was in college have left me with nearly no resistance to any respiratory problems. Whatever illness may be going around any gathering of folks, when it comes to me, I *will* catch it and it *will* turn into bronchitis. It may turn into flu-and-bronchitis, or laryngitis-and-bronchitis, or, as last winter spectacularly demonstrated, flu-and-laryngitis-and-bronchitis, but coughing and wheezing and gasping will always be part of it. And it will almost always take me a month or more to fully recover.
The end result of this is that, whenever I get sick, I wind up spending a month or more unable to exert myself beyond walking across a room without feeling kind of weak and short of breath. And this is beyond a royal nuisance to someone for whom exercise is a vital part of their sanity maintenance program.
When I can't work out, I don't cope as well with the day-to-day stresses of life and the crises that the world loves to throw at me. And when I don't cope well, my basic background levels of worry and panic start to build up. And when those start to grow, old demons suddenly get their claws into my psyche again. Like my body image problems. Which then latch onto the fact that I can't work out.
Lather, rinse, repeat.
And then there are the problems that re-emerge as I start slowly trying to be active again, only to realize that, while I may be feeling better, I'm nowhere near 100% - my lung capacity is still diminished, and a month without practice means at least some lost condition. And I get frustrated, and feel like a failure, and just want to quit. Which is, of course, the stupidest decision possible, but frustration isn't smart.
That's about where I am right now. After a month off the wagon, I've finally, within the past week or so, started to slowly be able to exercise again. And I love it, and I hate it. I love the feeling in my muscles that my body is working. I love getting up off my backside and being mobile. I love the second wind and the sense of accomplishment.
But I hate where I am right now. I hate the fact that the workouts that used to be my easy cop-outs are now challenging, and at the limit of my endurance. I hate the fact that I've had to wimp out and drop back down to my lighter set of weights for strength training. I hate feeling weak and out of shape and lazy and unhealthy and unfit.
I know that if I keep pushing, I'll get back to where I was before. Eventually. But I can't help but feel ashamed of having backslid, and annoyed at having to work back up. Damnit.
(And on a related note, does anybody know of a local-ish gym with an indoor track? If I'm serious about the 5K Run For Your Life I should start practicing, and running outdoors in the winter when I have sensitive airways is a recipe for disaster....)
The end result of this is that, whenever I get sick, I wind up spending a month or more unable to exert myself beyond walking across a room without feeling kind of weak and short of breath. And this is beyond a royal nuisance to someone for whom exercise is a vital part of their sanity maintenance program.
When I can't work out, I don't cope as well with the day-to-day stresses of life and the crises that the world loves to throw at me. And when I don't cope well, my basic background levels of worry and panic start to build up. And when those start to grow, old demons suddenly get their claws into my psyche again. Like my body image problems. Which then latch onto the fact that I can't work out.
Lather, rinse, repeat.
And then there are the problems that re-emerge as I start slowly trying to be active again, only to realize that, while I may be feeling better, I'm nowhere near 100% - my lung capacity is still diminished, and a month without practice means at least some lost condition. And I get frustrated, and feel like a failure, and just want to quit. Which is, of course, the stupidest decision possible, but frustration isn't smart.
That's about where I am right now. After a month off the wagon, I've finally, within the past week or so, started to slowly be able to exercise again. And I love it, and I hate it. I love the feeling in my muscles that my body is working. I love getting up off my backside and being mobile. I love the second wind and the sense of accomplishment.
But I hate where I am right now. I hate the fact that the workouts that used to be my easy cop-outs are now challenging, and at the limit of my endurance. I hate the fact that I've had to wimp out and drop back down to my lighter set of weights for strength training. I hate feeling weak and out of shape and lazy and unhealthy and unfit.
I know that if I keep pushing, I'll get back to where I was before. Eventually. But I can't help but feel ashamed of having backslid, and annoyed at having to work back up. Damnit.
(And on a related note, does anybody know of a local-ish gym with an indoor track? If I'm serious about the 5K Run For Your Life I should start practicing, and running outdoors in the winter when I have sensitive airways is a recipe for disaster....)
