16: Why, why, why??

I did not want to exercise this morning.

Why?

Why does the sloth emerge so fully every morning?  Why did I dread 35 minutes of sets that were relatively simple (but left me drenched in sweat?). Granted, it's spring break.  I wasn't expected to show up to a gym, only had to run to the mailbox and back, then a quick workout in the garage.

Can you see the mailbox?  It's by the road...see how tiny those cars are?  That and it's a 500ft elevation change.

I didn't want to do it.  Originally I had planned a seven mile hike out by Goldwater Lake, and I didn't want to compromise the hike.  I made some fun excuses about having a meeting (which I did have) but then went and did the workout.

Once again, I cried.

Planks do it to me.  Today was the first time I could hold one after pulling the obliques a few days ago, I did three reps holding it longer each time.  As I crumpled into child's pose, the tears flowed freely.  Why wasn't this getting easier?  Why was this so flipping hard?  Why didn't I quit?

Exactly four weeks ago today, I decided to start the fitness quest.  This is Thumb Butte trail, which looks quite differently to me now.  The first three or four times up it, this is what I would have seen, standing at the same spot:

Every week, I saw dirt.  My head was down, searching for air.  Even now, everything is dictated by avoiding the air monster and his friend the excuse monster, Maverick.

Laughing at me, at that.  

Four weeks ago, I stepped outside my comfort zone, and hiked knowing it would be hard.  I expected it to get easier-in ways it has, in ways it hasn't.  The tears today are the culmination of weeks of work and pants that still do not fit, of determination with little visible reward.  While I don't expect a cheering section, a pat on the back (or a zipper that zipped all the way up) would be nice.

Although you'd be amazed what even grocery store flowers would do.

I know I sat for years.  I know my body isn't used to it.  I asked a PT friend today why I hadn't hurt myself more in this early quest (we agreed I had just enough PT knowledge to prevent it; my late first husband was a PT) and why I was still so badly challenged.  He told me to give it time.

Time?  Excuse me, I'm running away to here instead.

So it hurt working out, and it was hard.  So hard, I MODIFIED my afternoon hike to Thumb Butte.  I knew I could do it, and I knew I'd feel better going to my favorite hike in my grumpy exercise state.

This is Abbie, behind me for a change.  She's home for spring break, and claims it's the altitude giving her a hard time.

For a change, I wasn't the only one 40 paces behind (I was still behind, however, because Charlton was with is.  I'm pretty certain he could have lapped us.)

Just before we reached the top, I felt my breathing relax.  I was surprised; it seemed odd to have this little burst.  We walked past a little four year old sitting on the path, his mother trying to coax him along.  He'd had enough, and was refusing to move.  I told him there was a toy fire truck at the top he could play with.  He jumped up fast, and began running.  

"That makes me want to run!" He yelled, as his mom struggled to keep up with him.  "Why is there a fire truck up there," he asked, and I thought of a little boy I had often seen tumbling in gymnastics as his proud papa watched.

"Some firefighters used to run this trail, carrying each other," I said.  "They died, and people wanted to remember them, so the put a fire truck up here."

"How did they die?" he asked, wide eyed.  "They died in a fire," I responded simply.

By then, we had reached the makeshift memorial to the Granite Mountain Hotshots.

"Can I play with it?" the boy asked, mesmerized by the flags, toys and tees left behind.  I pictured Caden Steed, just four when he lost his daddy.

"Of course," I replied.  "Just remember to put it back when you are done.  These firemen had little kids just like you, and these are here for them."

He nodded solemnly, before turning gleefully to his mom.  "Look at all this!"

I fingered the pink ribbon on my pack.  Esse quam videri.  To be, rather than to seem.

Why?

Because I want to be fit, rather than seem to be fit.

Because I want to hike Thumb Butte backwards, while giving an entertaining history talk.

Because there are so many stories to be discovered and told.

Fitness is a quest for me, because I hate exercise.  The love for my children, and future grandchildren dictates I get healthy now, to be there for them in the future.  

It wouldn't hurt to look good in Princess Leia's gold bikini, either.