Week 1 – The Exercise that Killed Me.

Howdy folks!  You’ll have to bare with me, my fingers are pretty much all I can move right now.  I sit before you a broken man.  This first week of the new year has been so crammed full of things, I haven’t had time to really sit down and write a blog! How ironic that my entire purpose of filling my days with interesting things so I could write about it would be the very reason I didn’t have time to write!  However, after tonight, I’m sure I’ll have plenty of time to write over the next few days.  So be ready!

I should probably start from the beginning so you guys have an idea of what I’m talking about.  For the most part, the various activities I’ve been doing lately haven’t really been anything to write about as most of them were just getting my affairs in order, however, my exercise routine is definitely something to talk about.

Earlier this week, Sunday to be exact, I performed my first fitness test in the 60 day routine I’ve made myself a part of and although my numbers were lower than expected I still felt like I had done fairly well for myself.  The following day was the following exercise and while moving through the exercises I realized that I just wasn’t pushing myself hard enough.  The same feeling of fear and failure began to creep up on me, and I left my routine feeling fairly pessimistic.

Entering into my 3rd day, I decided to start from the beginning.  To re evaluate myself and push myself past my comfort zone, and I most certainly did.  To an extreme degree at that.

You see, after the first few exercises, I began to feel myself give out.  Something I’m all too familiar with, a feeling I’ve become quite used to.  In the past this is when I’ve stopped or decided it best to rest, but not this time.   It wasn’t until my 4th exercise that the gravity of this routine began to sit in.  I felt like I could go on no further, and that dark blanket of failure began to envelop me.  Just as I had nearly decided to give up, I pushed through it.  I got back up on my feet, I dove into the next exercise head first with everything I had left…

And I puked all over the place.  Twice.

Horribly demoralized and in an awful amount of pain, I cleaned myself up and finished out what I could of the exercise doing my best to push through it even though I felt as though I would heave again at any moment.  I kept thinking to myself how if this was just the fitness test, how would I ever make it through 60 days of this abuse?  I couldn’t even make it through the fitness test.

Dragging myself to the shower, I had to pull myself over the bath tub and prop myself against the wall, I felt as if a semi truck had plowed into me and kept going.  The hot water felt remarkable as I lay my head underneath the spout and closed my eyes.  Had I not been leaning against the wall I would have fallen, I could feel my head swimming with disorientation.

Suddenly, I realized something that brought a smile to my face.  On the start of the 6th day of the new year, my year, I had done something great.  Although my performance is abysmal and my health is teetering on complete rock bottom, I had pushed myself passed my comfort zone.  I had expanded beyond that wall of failure and kept moving forward.  Sure, I puked, but I had beaten that wall of giving up that I am so used to succumbing to.

So now I sit before you a broken man.  Completely exhausted, I feel like ass, but for some reason I’m happy.  I feel awful, but I feel incredible.  The moral of this story… don’t give up just because it hurts.  The realization that I’ve come to is that my body may break, my mind might doubt, but my heart won’t give up.

Thanks guys and have a great day!