It’s a Friday night. Gym night. As a mother of two, showing up involves a lot of moving parts. Typically I’m an “on time” person. I am fine with waiting for people. But I’m tougher on my own timeliness. I really don’t like being late…until I get comfortable with it. In the world of training with others, the show goes on without you. Which is how I began arriving one minute, two minutes and even three to four minutes late to sessions. And I did this for a few weeks.
I didn’t like it, so I hatched a plan with the support of my trainer. For each minute I was late, I would need to put in 10 calories on the assault bike. For those not familiar, the assault bike is a special kind of no fun that involves not only pedaling to keep the large fan front wheel going but also pumping your arms back and forth with the bike’s handles. Twice the exercise, most definitely not twice the fun.
Avoiding the bike turned out to be a great motivator and it worked very well. We had a few laughs when I was a minute or seconds away, but I stayed ahead of the clock.
Until my first night back after recovering from the flu. I was poised to be early. The workout is difficult on a good day, so it never feels like easing back in to the routine. It feels like being knocked over by it. But that’s the nature of the program, I signed up for it, and it works.
About a quarter of a mile from the gym, I hit an extraordinarily long line of traffic. To add to the tension, it was going up a hill, so I could see the line of cars halted as they went through the traffic light, 5 at a time, but who’s counting.
I was stuck. I tried all the self-talk that I am so adept at helping others learn. It’s going to be okay, I tried to tell myself. You’ve still got time. You’ll get there, I repeated. As the time ticked away, my yes turned to maybe, which turned into a solid no. I was late. @#$%!!
My bike consequence, which, let’s face it, is actually a punishment was known by some of the other members. As I raced up the stairs, I heard someone say “oh no, you’re late.” And I certainly was. I wanted to cry, that’s my “go to” when I’m angry and frustrated.
I pouted and held up three fingers, one for each minute I was late. My trainer acknowledged me and kindly held back his commentary. It felt like so much more than it was.
When I’m writing this, it seems so ridiculously simple and trivial and I giggle at myself as I recount this. It’s an entitled thing to be moaning about how much voluntary exercise you’re doing. Big deal, I had to do a little more exercise.
Unfortunately, our minds don’t always offer the clarity we need. The struggle of the moment remains the struggle until it has passed.
Thoughts swirled around how unfair it was, I had done everything “right” and how I was already in rough enough shape and didn’t need one more obstacle. I was squarely in the trifecta of poor me, it’s unfair and blaming. But I had work to do. And finally my brain pulled me out of it. I found the thoughts I needed to yank me out of my spiral.
Sometimes, you can do all the things and life still doesn’t go your way. If this is your struggle, you’re lucky. Pedal, just pedal.
