Insane inhibitions

Yesterday, I went for my first appraisal since Christmas. I was happy with the results, but that’s not what I want to write about. What I do want to write about is how little - and I’m talking, I’ve probably never wanted to go to the gym as insignificantly of an amount as today - I desired completing my newly designed, hard-ass training program when I woke up and realised this was yet another day at the gym. I dragged myself out of bed, and actually questioned, for the first time in a long time, whether I even needed training at Aqualife this Sunday. Of course, my motivator of a fiancé got us there right on time, but even with a larger portion of energy drink than normal, today’s workout was absolutely awful. The weights felt twice as heavy as when Ebony showed me my new exercises yesterday, and the sets were a never-ending horror story from beginning till end. My muscles were aching; I was practically crying, and sets I usually love turned into monstrous, impossible challenges. Why? you may wonder, and this is all I have to say: Nothing compares to the excruciating battle that has to be won over one’s mind in order to go training when you’re on your period. 

There is literally something fiercely reluctant pulsating through your entire body, and today, that something was hitting every single cell in my brain.  And it was incredibly frustrating. 

“Okay, I’m going to do another set,” said my muscles, keen to get going.

“No, you’re not,” replied my head, leaning back, clenching my eyes together and demanding that my body stay completely still and undisturbed.

Hadn’t it been for the general misconception that may arise when you shout “Shut up!” to yourself in a gym, I probably would have done so. Several times. I was annoyed with every part of my being, but also somehow fascinated at the pure unwillingness my mind was casting upon my entire body. Remember how I talked about this last week? Mind trumps body every time? Well, it’s just as true this week. 

“It’s a two way street,” my mind whispered to me, “what? You think I’m just gonna let you kick it with your muscles every week? Uh-uh. Nooo, ma’am. You’re gonna have to work for it today.” 

And, man, did I. One hour and twenty-nine agonising minutes after I entered the gym, I lay down on the mat to stretch my dreadfully tired body. Then something strange happened. While listening to my mind laugh at my pitiful workout, I could hear my muscles shouting right back at it: 

“You better shut up next time, brain, or we’re gonna have everyone at the gym think you’re absolutely crazy with our chicken dance and locomotion moves.”