Putting the Work Into Workout

Song of the Day: White Eyes by Gackt

I am mightiest of the mighty

For the past, oh, going on three years now, I've been working out on and off. It started with a membership at Planet Fitness, and the months immediately following my graduation from Bard were built around my workout "schedule." Well, that and my job. For the most part, it was because I was depressed and, as I told my friend Jason at the time: "I want to be ripped like Thor." I think it was said more like: "I want to be in Thor-shape." I figured that would make me feel better, and it's always good to have realistic goals. Right?

I never actually got into "Thor shape" as I promised myself I would. I never had abs that you could do laundry on, or pecs that I could flex separately from the rest of my body. Seriously, my entire upper torso twitched when I tried. I did, however, find that working out, however little, had a wonderful effect on my mental well-being. Although the first months after Bard were emotionally trying for me, working out became an outlet other than melodramatic writing or sappy guitar practice. It was not the kind of release that required me to "talk about my feelings," or "let it out," or cry, or anything like that. It was a visceral and powerful release. If I weren't in the middle of a gym, I might have yelled. You know, like Thor.

Then in January of 2012, I met Amanda. She and I began dating (our anniversary is next week, actually), and I promptly forgot about the gym. It seems counter-intuitive that, once I meet someone I fall in love with, I would stop going to the gym. It's not that I suddenly stopped wanting to impress Amanda. It's just that I got happy and not-quite-fat-but-a-bit-pudgy. I call it the love chub. Challenge: in your mind, draw it out with a deep, Barry White, voice: "The loooooove chub." Kind of like in the video below.

So, I gradually started going back to Planet Fitness, but never with quite the fervor that I did back when I was single. I both love and hate working out. It takes a time commitment and a willingness to put yourself through regular discomfort (at least to start). That's hard to do when you work full time, are trying to finish writing a book, and are in a serious relationship, all while trying to look for jobs and grad schools. Then there's the cost of gym membership - seemingly small in and of itself - combined with the extra cost of driving about 30 minutes out of my way five days a week - a cost that adds up horribly.

For a while I pursued going to the gym with lackluster enthusiasm, resulting in me working out in fits and starts rather than going whole hog, biting the bullet and diving in. That, plus learning to eat healthy, have been difficult hurdles to overcome.

However, in spring of last year, something I can't quite pinpoint triggered a wave of massive hypochondria. In truth, I've been a hypochondriac since I was six years old and danced around the house singing "bovine spongioform encephalopathy!" at the top of my lungs. But Spring 2013 brought with it something I never experienced before: crippling anxiety and an inability to see reason. Even now I struggle with it. A soft cough is lung cancer. Heart burn can be one of two things: a hernia or heart failure. Aches and pains anywhere in my torso are hernias, an aneurysm, cancer, perforation or a terrible infection. Even though I have zero risk factors for anything I fear that I am an outlier; one of the 0.02% that get these heinous diseases regardless of risk factors. I can no longer watch even five minutes of House, one of my formerly favorite tv shows, without having to change it.

For someone who never studied medicine and never plans to, I know way too much about diseases, both known and obscure.

Since then I have rediscovered the gym and getting healthy. Part of my conclusion is that I have repressed a lot of emotional things that have struck me the past couple years, and it's simply time for it to come out. Every time some sort of upheaval occurs, I have an anxiety-filled meltdown. Iggy's passing a few weeks ago was a trigger for me, for example.

But the other part of my conclusion is simply that I know I have had an unhealthy lifestyle. It's a lifestyle that concerns me, and has resulted in me eating healthier and trying harder to be more active. But it comes down to the facts that it is still a difficult time commitment when it involves driving to Timbuktu. So I have decided to start a new exercise program called P90X.

Holy Lord in Heaven above it hurts. Two days in on a ninety day program and it's even hard to move. It's the most brutal training regimen that I have ever experienced, and it's constructed to be so. It's an extreme workout and, while it's fun, for the uninitiated and un-in-shape, it is terribly difficult and hard on you. I am one of the un-in-shape, and it is insane; I hurt in places I didn't even know could hurt. But, all in all, it's a good hurt - a hurt of growth.

The upside is that I'm too tired to be anxious. Which is awesome. It's nice to have some quiet in my mind.