Thai died

Last night I returned to kickboxing after a good two years off. I say “a good two years” only because that is the common phrase. In fact, it was not a good two years off. It was two years of significantly decreased physical activity and significantly increased midriff. It was two years of me finally starting to feel like I’m getting old. Now that my Monday nights are open again, I have signed up and I am going to try to get back into it. After last night, it seems that I will have a lot of work to do.

I was good to see some familiar faces; faces of individuals that have been able to keep up the commitment. I was hesitant to start, but I soon got back into the groove. To my delight, my technique still seems to be there, but, alas, my cardio and strength have taken a hit. This was most evident when we did our Olympic 5 at the end of class. The Olympic 5 is a series of one minute sets of calisthenics, one after another – abdominals, push-ups, jumping jacks with a jumping knee tuck in the middle, burpies (thrust jumps), and mountain climbers. I was doing alright with the abs, but when we switched to push-ups I could barely lower myself halfway down; I was becoming upset. As we moved onto jumping jacks my will to continue was ebbing away at a quickening pace, but I had to push on, so I only did the knee tucks for every third or fourth jump. Burpies was a demonstration of desperation. I did alright hitting the deck and thrusting my legs out, but when I had to tuck in and jump up, I’m sure I resembled a zombie in a mosh pit – arms limp, head rolled to one side, the very slightest of lift produced by legs that had ceased to work properly, and a soulless groan to complete the picture. Finally, mountain climbers. Up to this point I had been becoming increasingly disappointed, but I was encouraged to find that I was still able to get my knees past my elbows easily. However, that is where the joy ended as it seemed that the particular mountain I was climbing was covered in thigh-deep powder with a nasty wind putting up resistance. I must have also been climbing at quite an altitude, too, because I found myself quite laboured in my breathing as I frantically looked about for my oxygen tank, which was not to be found seeing how I was not on an actual mountain, but rather threatening to set the wood floor on fire by the sheer heat of my burning quads.

Much like my recent runs, my first day back at kickboxing had me feeling like a beginner all over again; which, like my running, is frustrating as all hell. It takes me a long time to get to a point where I feel comfortable doing an activity; sometimes I never make it to that place, so having to go through this process again, blarg! Once again, it’s not just the physical discomfort, it’s the mental discomfort. The physical pain I can live with. In fact, I used to relish the feeling of next-day soreness; it meant that I was continuing to challenge my body. It’s the knowledge that I’ve let myself go that stings in a way that physical pain can’t match.

Confessions of a recovering runner: Suck it!

I just came back from a run at lunch and I fell like shite. Yes, yes. I feel pretty good about getting out, making the effort, calling upon my willpower, et cetera, et cetera; but that’s where it ends.

I had done next to no running in the past couple of months, and hardly any running the months prior to that. As a result my feet were sore, my calves were tight, my quads were jelly, and my breathing was strained. Oh, sure, I started out alright, but it wasn’t long until I started shuffling my feet and sucking wind. It’s not just the physical discomfort, but also the mental discomfort of knowing that I had let myself deteriorate to a point where something which I had been doing on a regular basis now makes me feel like I’m starting all over. I can only imagine what I’ll feel like when I start up with Muay Thai after being away for, what’s it been, two years? More? Oh, joy.

I am out of shape. I can feel it. I can see it. I am going to change it; but it’s going to take some time.

Is it still considered self-serving when the service is shite?

You should probably not blog when you are a) Drunk, or, b) Angry. Well rest assured, I am not drunk. Unfortunately, I am angry. I’m angry at myself. This anger is not directed at my family or my friends. This is about self-serving self-criticism.

Coming into November, I wanted to focus attention on my health. It’s no secret that I am not as active as I used to be, and I am really starting to feel and see the effects of my reduced activity. However, it is now clear to me that in order to properly attend to my physical well-being, I first have to attend to my psychological health, which, at this moment, is not all that great. Once again, I seem to have set myself up for failure.

My grand scheme to come back into running has fallen short as I have hardly gone out at all this month. I was hoping to go out at least three nights a week, but I can barely muster one night. I don’t care that the snow’s come and the temperature has dropped. I used to run in -20C. I used to purposely run toward the snow drifts and tromp through them. Now I come home feel my motivation seep away as the night goes on, if I have any motivation at all. Is it too late at night? When I started running I would almost always head out between 10:30 and 11:00 at night; in the middle of winter. Where is that dedication now? I was doing yoga, but the past two sessions I either haven’t been able to fit it into my work schedule, or couldn’t bring myself to justify spending the money. I used to do Muay Thai, and I loved it; and while I had most recently been doing it only one night a week, there was a time I was doing it two nights a week and even on Saturday mornings. Now I can’t even get myself organized to consider doing it that one night a week. I used to do indoor climbing. I even signed up for monthly competitions, and even though I didn’t do all that particularly well, I still went out and had fun and challenged myself. Now all of that seems to have passed away. Now I am either unable to motivate myself, or if I do have the desire, I am too bloody cheap to invest any money in my health. I was even too cheap, or too lazy, or both to simply buy a new bicycle chain to replace the one that snapped this past summer when I was biking to work.

I know my health is important. I know that as I age I need to keep active so that I can maintain my cardiovascular health, strength, and flexibility. Yet I am finding it more and more difficult to invest the time and money, and as a result, I find myself becoming more and more disappointed, frustrated, and angry at myself. Even when I was more active and my self-esteem was being bolstered by the realisation that I was becoming more fit, I was still prone to the depths that a lifetime of negative self-image had created. I am afraid to go back there; and while this fear used to motivate me to strive harder, now it seems to simply reinforce my disappointment, frustration, and anger.

I don’t ever remember a time that I felt comfortable in my body. It has never been where I want it to be, even after I had lost a lot of weight. In my mind, I had never reached that point where I would be happy with myself; and now it feels like I am drifting further and further away from even that point where I had been making progress. I have fallen into a cycle of negative thoughts that feed on themselves and debilitate any attempt to break out. A large part of the problem is that I really don’t know what I expect of myself. There is a vague ideal that I cling to, cobbled together from media, friends, acquaintances, wishful thinking, and jealousy. Like some juggernaut of half-truths, this person is always before me, always out of reach. An ideal serves to motivate by being beyond reach; but where is the line that separates being just out of reach and impossible to obtain? How can I create an ideal that is close enough to reach for, but not so far away as to despair when I cannot touch it?

I’m not sure what I need to do rise out of this hole I’ve dug for myself. What I do know is that it will be difficult to rise to the challenge when I have spent so much of my life resigned to the thought that I am unable to reach my ideal; an ideal that is nothing more than a shade; undefined, ill-formed. What’s worse is that I have a tendency to see myself as unworthy of any achievements that I may have won along the way. If I hope to do better, then I will have to realise that better is good enough.

Rant is over.

I need to get a life.

Seriously, don’t blog when you’re angry.