Yes, this is an exercise post.
On the treadmill, last night, running calmly whilst everybody around me was frantically pushing themselves, it is apparent that the thrall of my exercise class no longer exists. Yes, of course, I could have been that person. It would have been quite simple last night to throttle up and smash 80%. I didn’t want to.
Earlier in the day I’d done one minute challenges: two different exercises, five of each, and then whatever was left in a minute after they were done was mine for recovery. Last time this happened (July) the starting combo (box jumps, burpees) I’d managed two sets of before being unable to continue. Yesterday, I did ten minutes without a rest.
An awful lot has changed this year for the better.
Here we are therefore in a land where 100 press ups yesterday plus a full Blaze class isn’t making my arms hurt at all this morning. They may hurt tomorrow, of course, but for now everything is gloriously unaffected. It makes the teeth trauma so much more manageable too, lovely way to just switch off and stop obsessing about what bit hurts now. That’s better, by the way, but honestly far too slow to heal.
Then there’s an epiphany from this morning: as long as there is something to distract from an obsessive need to poke and prod myself every five minutes, of course it will get better. If I sprained an ankle I’d bear the pain and then work to recover. The same should be true of my teeth, or my written ability… or indeed anything at all.
If it matters enough, stop moaning and do the fucking work.
However, judging other people by my own standards has to stop. That might be the harder ask, long-term, only because it serves as a great way of reflecting the heat off yourself. If you can learn to stop biting your nails, to file them so that stay a decent length, so much else of the minutiae is possible. There just needs to be a place for it.
The key now, undoubtedly, is fitting everything into the spaces provided.