I'm dragging my sorry arse to class. Motivation, schmotivation blah

You stand there in amazement watching your instructor with super human powers, lobbing weights around and screaming in menace at you. You think "I wish I had shoulders like hers" or "I wish I could kill her" or something like that, but sometimes it is really desperately hard when instructors fill their days instructing and neglecting their own health.

Sometimes, I am teaching and I can not remember who is in front of me. I would often describe my delivery as out of this world. No. Don't misunderstand, I am not saying it was the best ever, sometimes it feels like someone had stolen my body and taught the class for me as I can't remember a thing but am told it was awesome! (actually they don't always tell you that, they share it with others on social media which is good).

I used to teach 28 classes a week! Yes that's right. That's a lot of washing, especially as two socks enter and only one sock leaves.

Anyway, I am clearly losing the plot because I want to share with you what being unfit feels like to me. 

I went to a Body Pump class recently.  I used to teach it but on that day I could barely lift a weight. I struggled due to my injuries from overuse and lack of care. The instructor was bang on and quite lovely but I was not in the room. My ADHD kicked in and my brain swam with thoughts (mostly, why am I doing this?) By track 3, my naughtiness kicked in and I started dreaming about a nice chilled glass of sneaky white wine on the way home.  Track 7 gave me PTSD as I heard notes of GRIT training which sent shudders down my spine as I used to teach GRIT too! What the hell has happened to me?

I needed to have a word with myself. If I was my personal trainer I would sack me! NOTE! I am a really good trainer and have changed so many peoples shapes and outlooks, but I had no reserve to help me. I just ran out of tokens.

Then it hit me. I had lost my mojo, the sacrifice of exercising to my goals is not as great as the terror of being injured. In addition, I have suffered a lot of stress over the last 18 months and feel that my body won't let me move on. This breaks me. I am not a quitter. I am disappointed in myself. So quietly in the wee hours of the night and every night since I have continued to have a little word (I use a threatening style of voice, it's like Sasha Fierce talking to Bae). 

I wanted to gift them to you.

Note to self: Let shit go

Remember how blessed I am

I am in charge of how I feel, and I choose health

I am the best version of me

I didn't change. I woke up

I am the only thing standing in my way

What would Beyonce do?

I am strong

My body needs me

I am working on myself, for myself, by myself

I know this is just a phase blah blah blah, but in spite of all the being gentle to myself talk blah blah blah... it is now time to get my stuff in a pile and move.  This isn't a sympathy story but a harsh reality that sometimes, some things slip. In the grand scheme of things, a slip is ok once in a blue moon, but have the courage to recognise what is going on and make the change.

I have sorted out my mindset, I have written up my goals, I am saying my affirmations and slowly moving in the right direction.  So in class tonight I pledge I won't be naughty. I am mentally prepared to be strong, be safe and I will be fine. I will expect to be sore and I will love that feeling.  

I abandoned my needs for a while, something we all do. Now Mumma is coming home to play. No more excuses. Just move. 

Finally, I am going to ask you to share the love forward. We all have a friend who isn't being as active, or has been unwell and they too have fallen off the wagon. Maybe something in their life has changed, transport, babysitters, work commitments... Be the motivator. Be the one who helps them get active again and find their mojo. 

Offer a lift, change the schedule, see if you can make the change. We all know that exercise is the wonder drug. We all know moving is the answer, so lets show them. 

I can

I will

Watch me

 

Haitch xxx

 

 

 

Helen TiteComment