October 7, 2008
I used to dance a lot in high school. Nearly every Saturday I would find myself stretching muscles and acquiring black and blues with such regularity it didn't phase me at all. In fact, if there wasn't some sort of minor pain, I figured I wasn't working hard enough. Some pains were, in truth, a little more to take than others. But at the end of the day, it was just something I learned to work through as I practiced for the next Saturday.
At the end of last week, I visited a trainer. In the attempt to evaluate my current physicality, I was tested on a number of routines to the point of exhaustion. I woke up sore on Saturday and in agony on Sunday. I moved as though five decades had been added to my years and lost sleep as I felt the muscles repairing themselves after a night of 'rest.' I dreaded the return to work on Monday and the stairs that take me to my office.
The soreness woke me too early today as well. But as I left my car a block or two from our building, I realized that while the walking still hurts, it helps at the same time. I was reminded of those dancing days and my determination to not let the little hurts be an excuse to stop trying, but the motivation to make myself stronger.
It isn't rocket science… and the science is simply that my muscles are repairing themselves after ripping from more exercise than they have been used to the past year and a half. The lesson is pretty obvious in terms of exercise… but I think there is a lesson to borrow a little attitude from my seventeen year old self. To just not let it cripple me and move on.
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