Wimp

Alligator crawls with push-ups. A bunch. Each time I survive a workout, I’m kinda pumped. Not as fast as most, but dang I can hang. 🐊

I’ve decided to approach exercise like giving birth. Once I started to think about my workout in these terms, I began to make progress. I approach another burpee, another squat, an attempted pull up (mainly I hang, just hang from the bar), as if it is simply another contraction. Do I feel like I can't do another? Yep. Do I feel like I'm going to lose my lunch? Often, especially when I increase intensity and/or duration. Am I going to die? It sure feels like it sometimes, but no, I'm not gonna die. Last week I came home with carpet burn like thingys on my forearms from the mat, bad form. But I didn’t quit. 

When thoughts of quitting enter my mind, I cut them off, fast, shut 'em down. If I don't, sure enough, I'm tapping out. I've asked people the secret to running longer, further, and have never received an answer that worked for me. I knew the battle was/is in my mind, not my legs. Contractions—that I understand. If I started whining and crying during a contraction, I lost ground, it didn't do any good to cry and fuss. Survive through the next. And the next. For however long it takes. It won't last forever, it just feels like it will. 

So, six, eight or ten sets of tabata or ladders, I’m in. 

 I do this because I can.