Don’t Talk Just Kiss

This morning, I don’t want to talk about exercise.

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That’s 29 minutes of yellow heart-rate: 80% effort for me, an 8/10 across a session, requires 2/3rds of the class to be done at an effort level I cannot easily sustain. In nearly a year of classes, that’s the take-out I have. Red minutes are unfeasible. My body is simply incapable of sustaining above that level of effort without replacing my lungs. But hang on, didn’t you just say at the beginning… yup, this is not about exercise.

This is understanding what I’m currently capable of achieving. This is my limit.

Thursday night, I was flat out. There was nothing else to give. What the yellow doesn’t show is the number of times I hit red, but couldn’t sustain it, as there were several. As I worried yesterday that maybe my effort had spurred someone on to over-exert who shouldn’t, brain offered the counter. You can only be you. You told that person to take it easy, to walk and to take breaks if they felt stressed.

If someone fails to take the advice you offered, that’s their problem and not yours.

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Going back therefore to Wednesday and looking again not at the exercise but the effort… and Monday too… could I have done more? Nope. Where I am physically, what’s being asked of me in classes? This is my Limit. How that improves now, going forward… well, I assume that stamina will eventually come into play and all those greens will eventually vanish, if of course the workout supports it.

My heartrate automatically drops if I lie down, it does for most people. So, if there’s bench work, I’m screwed. The point which now registers, after a lot of heartache, is that this really has not ever been about anything except challenging yourself. The ‘game’ that Blaze plays, encouraging to push hard and work long, simply does not work. Flat out, my body is incapable of sustaining the 14-18 minutes of red heart-rate I’m told to aim for.

If I could, I would not be who I am now.

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This wasn’t a post about exercise and still isn’t. Before she had her asthma attack on Thursday, I was talking to my classmate about becoming a Mental health Champion. She was wearing a Nuclear Races t-shirt, the event my trainer has quietly been pushing me to take part in, means by which all this physical attainment can be comprehensively measured. The question was asked: would you take part?

There is no need to conquer that challenge. It holds no desire, no need to wear the t-shirt as proof. The experience provides zero interest or satisfaction. The only person that will ever need to be impressed at my ability is… well, me. I’m not doing this to impress anybody. There will never be a pinnacle of my achievement, simply notable moments like this one, when it finally became apparent this is not a contest.

Now that’s finally accepted, I might get somewhere.