Well, hello, friends.
Greetings from my kitchen table. It is an overcast New England evening. The clouds have blanketed the sky. Through my window, the evergreen branches crisscross over a sobering sheet of white. Birds are perched and announcing their symphonies. The late summer mugginess is held at bay by yesterday's showers. There's so much to be grateful for.
The aim is to be inside all day. I want to starfish across my bed, drape over the couch, and stretch across the floor. All while being hand-fed fried chicken. Both are unlikely as today is a gym day, and the second for obvious reasons – Phil's at work.
Hand-feeding aside, let's talk gym. Do you go? Are you more of an outside track, backyard, or living room workout person? I shared yesterday that I can't wait to settle into a neighborhood/community and go bouldering on Monday, weightlift on Tuesday, teach yoga on Wednesday, rollerblade on Thursday, and enjoy long walks on Friday. I'm going to be that neighbor! Today's weather is prime for a long walk.
I'm a fan of the gym. I always have been, and a year ago, I asked ever so nicely for Phil to be my trainer. He obliged when I shared that I was starting to plateau, a humbling admittance. And he is excellent. He says things like "Two more!", "Send your knees over your feet!", "Let's go final set, make it count!". He is very focused and helpful, while I am more interested in climbing up and hanging off of the heavy bag. You can see why I needed assistance.
Recently, we've been working on chest. Our machine has a pair of arms and pulleys that crane out like a metallic tree. You become fully on display when in use since it doesn't seat, hold, or enclose the user like other apparatus. My vulnerability got the better of me the first time we used it. To create resistance, I had to step out into the walkway. I was placing my struggle into full view of the treadmill and elliptical folk, who I assumed looked on with judgy eyes and swinging hips. I pinched my scapulars and gripped the handles of the machine tighter. I am determined not to surrender to the competition in my head, of which I am both the creator and sole participant.
"Okay, now put it down like you're going to do another." I reset the cables and hobble over to sip from the water bottle hidden in my bag. Using the trunk of the machine as a reprieve from gravity, I squat down, offering my back and shoulders ease. I feel exposed – trying and struggling for all to see – the feeling radiating off me like a stench from rotting meat. Phil calmly said, "We come here to fail."
Lifting isn't about the weight per se. It's about remaining in good form throughout its movement. It's to be expected there's an amount that I cannot move. There has to be. And that knowing has made gym time my fav. I face choosing how to proceed when I run up against a rep or weight I cannot lift. It's the ultimate practice of integrity. It's a reminder that all you can do is your best. The gym has become my personal exposure therapy.
As I position for my last set, the weight suddenly feels lighter as I no longer add the need to meet other's expectations. I imitate the movement as I'd been shown and, once complete re-rack, resisting the pulley until the plastic ball wedges in its track.
I release my posture. Dropping both my hands and the need to be perfect.
Love is teaching me to listen. It wants me to know it means no harm. What’s it teaching you? Drop a 🏋🏾♀️ in the comments for getting a peak inside my heart.
Until next week ,
RL
Love is teaching me to remain open — even when the heart wants to retreat.
Everyone needs a Phil. The “we come here to fail” is such an underrated mentality.