Confessions of an Exercise Addict

I haven’t exercised in 8 weeks. GASP! EEK! I did go for a short jog-walk twice, but that doesn’t usually count for exercise-freak-me.

 And I am totally ok with it. I don’t miss it. Which is WEIRD.

And I am not anxious about NOT working out. Which is also even WIERDER.

And I’m thinking I may even want to give up my gym membership. Now we are talking crayyy-zee.

For all who know me well, the gym/running/exercise is my happy place. I’ve always  been compulsive about exercise. If I wasn’t exercising every day, I still thought about it every day.  Some phases worse and more compulsive than others.  Since I was 15 years old.  That was when gyms and aerobics were becoming popular in the 80’s.

In fact, we (my mom, my sister, Jenn, and I) joined Family Fitness Center on Katella Avenue  even before then. I was junior-high age. We’d put on our pink or black dance-store leotards and leg warmers. This was the only time in my whole life I saw my mom exercise. It was a very SHORT phase for her. She didn’t like to sweat!  Then she  would have to wash and roll her hair all over again, so why? I’m so the opposite. Sweat is good, sweat is awesome! It means I got an ass-whooping in class at Equinox. It DOESN’T count without sweat. (Unless you are my friends Heather or Beth who DON’T SWEAT at all.)

I have always “worked out” by running, lifting weights, or taking various intense group fitness classes through the years. Only late-term-time in my pregnancies and post-partum recoveries slowed me down. And a few injuries here or there.

I’ve been nursing a bruised tailbone in the last 8 weeks. How in the WORLD you ask?  Well, I wish I could say I was having wild sex with my husband Chris, and fell down on my butt. But in actuality, Ryan, my son with Prader-Willi syndrome, was having an epic tantrum and physically was acting out.  I was on my own as Chris was running the Ragnar Relay that particular weekend. A race he was running in Ryan’s honor and to raise funds for the Prader-Willi California Foundation. The Irony. Anyway, I was trying to restrain Ryan and we both fell down. Ouch.

More ouch as the next couple of days went on and I worked out nonetheless.

Because when you are obsessive-compulsive about exercise, you “push through the pain” and keep going. Pain IS a signal that tells us that something is wrong and that we better address it, or slow down, or stop doing the thing that causes us pain. Duh. I ignored it at first. After two hard workouts, I was done. Ice, ibuprofen, rest. Repeat. Zero exercise. Even sitting, driving or sleeping hurt.

 So I surrendered. Quickly. I fully embraced the break, the rest, and the reprieve.

Normally I would fight it, be angry, ask God WHY without really wanting to know the answer. But I didn’t. It was Divine Intervention happening inside my heart.

I am surrendered.

I am happy.

I am at peace.

I haven’t gained a single pound. In fact I have lost two (probably muscle, but whatevs). But I am not even really caring about all that right now. Not completely free of caring, but…something has shifted in me.

Here is where I get brave: (Cue dramatic music and drums.)

For all of my life, I’ve wrapped up (a chunk of) my identity in being fit, a fitness person, a runner, a half-marathon (ten times) runner, and how I look. Total vanity.

When you get lots of compliments young in life, you want to KEEP getting those compliments. Because I attached WORTH to it. Wrongly. It’s a total web of deception. But I was caught in it. So I worked at it. And worked at it. And then you  tell yourself, you MUST be (or try to be) good-looking, pretty, thin, and fashionable. I MUST look good in a bikini until I am forever-old, or something ridiculous like that, even though I only wear one 5-10 times in a year. (If that.)

I have known all these years that I was holding up exercise and image as gods. And every day I worked out I was worshipping those gods.  Because I was tying up my worth, identity, and heart satisfaction in a nice, justifiable bow with exercise.

I am not saying I can’t exercise ever again. Or that I won’t. I am not saying we can’t or shouldn’t exercise, every day even. I am not saying we should all turn into frumpy-dumps wearing moo-moos or jean jumpers. I am not saying we shouldn’t care at all about our appearance or “take care of ourselves.”

It’s living in the extreme, shitty shoulds, vanity and insecurity and self-worth being tied to whether my biceps are showing.

Is that you at all? Exactly WHAT do you tie your WORTH to?

 My perfectionism (that I never really thought I had because I am NOT perfect at anything) has been a prison and this has been part of that prison.  Not that I have ever attained perfection (not possible anyway) but I have been striving, thinking, working towards perfection.  God wants to heal me of that and through Ryan, ironically. Having a disabled child quickly takes you out of the running for Perfect Little Family and Perfect Little Life. Which no one has but when you are a perfectionist, you don’t really have rational thinking about EVERYONE ELSE. Or about yourself.

It’s ironic that my tailbone injury FROM RYAN is leading me to a place of deep awareness and eventually to a place of freedom. Wow.

Me then: I must. I should. I better. I can’t NOT be fit, thin, tight, toned.

Me now: I feel FREE. Free-er of the shitty shoulds.

 I want to live in extreme grace and extreme freedom. NO more-hamster-wheel-crazy-busy-rushed-must-accomplish-more-and-check-more-boxes-off in my day.  A bestie said to me recently, “You’re a high performer, Jess, but maybe it’s time to let  some of this go.” That was hard to hear, but I took it in, because I knew it was a timely word for me.

I sense I am entering a season of rest, a season of relinquishing the OLD ME.

As we gut our kitchen in order to have a new one, so is my heart, and the OLD ME changing, and a new me is emerging.

I want new.

I want grace.

I want freedom from the lies I’ve attached to my identity and self-worth. The lies I embraced and subsequently ignored, yet bound to them.

Unfortunately, we rely on addictions (yes, I have been an exercise addict), to satisfy our longings and to make us feel ENOUGH or WORTHY.

And yet, none of it is real. It. Is. Not. Real. 

It is not lasting.  It does not provide lasting peace or lasting joy.

Now that I know this, I want to be free…I shall be free.

I’m halfway through my life, a grown-ass woman, and it’s time for a re-set.

It’s time to embrace the truth that my WORTH is based on the fact that I am a Child of God. Period.

That my WORTH comes from my Creator Who loves me, and Who has a plan, purpose, and calling for my life.

God’s grace to me, for me, and with me, means I AM ENOUGH. 

 

Post-blog note:  I wrote this piece in December.  Since then I did quit the gym, and am happily taking a break.  I found, if I am being totally honest, it was fueling my need for perfection.   I started running again, which is really slogging, but I am starting. Not training. Not pushing. No goals. Just a little fresh air and easy exercise.  xo