Sunday’s have been my favourite day of the week for quite some time. Though the events of the day have changed over the years, one thing has remained constant — early Sunday morning workouts.

After missing the last week, the past week of induldgence and just the headspace I’ve been in (read my post about it here), I was looking forward to a full body, high intensity interval, anger induced and infused workout. I was amped, driven, convicted!

What have I said about convictions being followed by tests?

I warmed up with a few laps around the track. Eager to get to the squat rack. Did a few warm up sets and loaded the bar to 190, the last weight I had completed for 6 reps. By the 3rd rep, I was in trouble, I was struggling. By the time my thighs were parallel to the floor on the fourth set, I was stuck. I couldn’t get back up, my spotter thought I’d be able to push myself back up and though I appreciated his faith in me, it was seriously overestimated. I collapsed under the weight and the bar rolled over my head.

I stepped back, sore — bad pain shot through my lower back through to my neck. The most damage was to my spirit. Disappointed. A feeling that I just can’t seem to shake off these days. In a week I had compromised the body I had worked for, the strength that I had built and confidence I had created. All of it, gone. Except this time disappointment brought rage, not sorrow.

That’s the change that makes a difference.

I stepped away from the bar and sprinted once around the track, fast. Furious.

I came back and loaded the bar, 110, 3 sets of 12. Significantly lower in weight. But, proper form, thighs parallel to the floor.  Super setted with deadlifts, again, decreased weight.  It hurt to unload the 35’s and put on 25’s… That hurt fueled each lift though. Curses under my breath — at least I was breathing through the lifts. Music blaring. Angry music. The occasional smile escaped when seeing familiar faces. In between each set, I sprinted. My pulse was racing, I could feel my heart beating through my chest, but I pushed through.

Masochistic? Maybe. Necessary? Very.  

I moved on to chin ups and dips which were also significantly weaker.

What had I done?

I fought tears, hoping I could run hard enough, lift heavy enough, work myself enough that they’d be camoflauged by sweat dripping from my furrowed brow.  The ‘bad pain’ increased in the back of my neck. I finished my workout and went home. It wasn’t until the hot shower that the combination of bad pain, bruised ego and damaged spirit coaxed a few tears. Tears of grievence. 

Every day we get the opportunity to start again. That’s what I did this morning, I started again. Does it suck to have back tracked? Regressed? .. Taken several steps forward and then doubled back in a fourth of the time? You bet! But what’s the other option? There is no other option. Giving up isn’t an option. Staying stagnated isn’t an option. COMPROMISING IS NOT AN OPTION.

Forward motion, only. Forward motion, always.

So, here we go again.. building up, from the bottom up. This time will be better, this time will be stronger, this time… This time, will be different.

As long as I don’t get in my own way. So, I leave you this morning with that thought — what are you holding yourself back from?

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