Finding inspiration during the Olympics by refocusing to do the hard things.
The pandemic is over, right? Not quite, but almost.
Even if the Delta variant is still playing havoc on our lives, we need to get ready for our so-called reentry. As for me, it’s time to think about how I can lose those pandemic pounds. It’s time to get my butt in shape. Yes, literally, my butt is dragging on the floor from inactivity.
I stopped looking in the mirror about 6 months ago.
I got tired of looking at those layers of ice cream and popcorn folds of fat around my midsection. So I rationalized ignoring them by telling myself — who cares? I’m not going out anyway.
But last night, my ugly voice of shame raised its little hand. I took notice. I knew it was better not to let the pandemic be the excuse for everything going wrong with my life because someday it will be over, and then what?
I had to look for inspiration somewhere, and I found it when I turned on the television. I saw blue sky peeking through my dark layers of self-pity. I felt a disturbing tingling inside me that I didn’t recognize.
It was the Olympics that gave me hope.
I saw athletes competing in stadiums completely void of cheering fans. They were pushing themselves to the limit, breaking world records, and no one was watching.
No fans, no problems, I thought to myself. If they can do it, I can do it. I need to start now if I want April Ross’s beach volleyball body before the summer is over.
Getting an Olympian’s body is hard, if not impossible, in my 5th decade of life. But I’m going to try for good measure.
I believe life is all about how we frame doing the hard things. It’s all about changing how we approach them. So, first, make a plan. Then, one step at a time.
This morning I got up out of bed with a plan — to create a backyard gym.
I gathered all the loose weights I’ve collected over the years, a bench press I bought a decade ago, and a dusty workout pad and set up my little gym. Finally, I was ready to give it a shot.
I was hyped and pumped just like the women’s gold medalist freestyle wrestler Tamyra Mensah-Stock’s biceps. I was bulging with excitement.
But like a disruption in a video feed, I froze as I stared at those weights. They seemed to be snarling back at me like a rabid dog. I was afraid. My amygdala was telling me to run. I wanted to run. But I didn’t. I needed to find a workaround. How do I start?
Watching the US women’s volleyball game last night broke my heart; there was absolutely no one in the stands of the indoor arena. At least the swimmers had all their teammates, coaches, doctors, and various random accredited people cheering them on. But the volleyball girls had not one soul watching — crickets, maybe not even crickets. So the Olympic organizers did something clever — they blasted happy pop music into the empty hall as the teams rotated service.
Happy music can make all the difference in your mood.
I got my iPhone out and set up a tiny speaker, and started blasting some summertime dance music into my makeshift workout space. That’s more like it. Let’s get this party started.
I sat down on the bench press, and the resistance sat down right next to me. I lifted the weights and heard the muscles in my arms screaming. Seriously! Don’t even think about it. Stop now before it’s too late!
My inner critic was alive and well. I let her take me to that dark place of — forgetaboutit land.
There was no one here to cheer me on.
The music wasn’t working its charm — it made me feel like dancing, not bench press my six-pound weights. Now what? I had to refocus.
I looked up through the limbs of my pepper tree and saw the sun. Then suddenly I heard a voice — You can do this. Go for it! The sun’s rays were like cheering fans quieting my inner negativity. I lifted the pair of six-pound weights up and down — One, two, three, four, five …I got this! I can do it. Yes! Yes! Yes! the sun screamed back at me.
It was a trick of mind over matter that got my middle-aged flabby pandemic body lifting those weights. Each time I lifted, I heard a roar of support that silenced my inner critic and my protesting muscles.
I felt like Karsten Warhold, the Norwegian 400-meter hurdler who broke a world record and won gold. I was thrilled. I wanted to tear off my jersey (an oversized t-shirt in my case) and run around my backyard waving up at my non-existence crowd of supporters. I did it! I did it! I did it!
Next, I moved on to the 5 lb kettlebell exercise — yes, only 5 lb, I’ve got to start somewhere. I lifted it and swung it into the air, then let it drop down as I bend my legs into a squat. “Ahh, that hurts!” my butt, back, and neck screamed. “Are you kidding me, sister?”
I kept going and stood up again. I looked across the back fence and saw the tips of the branches of my neighbor’s Cassia tree and a cluster of bright yellow blossoms. I let the kettlebell drop down and then stood up again. I looked up at the yellow flowers that were now smiling back at me. So down and up I went again.
My focus shifted away from the pain in my legs to the beauty of those flowers. And before I knew it, I was done. A set of 15.
I am convinced that the best way to do the hardest things, in my case, working my butt muscles, is by refocusing away from my pain and onto the positive things around me. It’s in paying attention to the small perfect things where magic actually happens.
It may take days, weeks, and months of this kind, refocusing my mind over matter to even get close to feeling good about my body again. But I know it’s time to get my butt in gear even if there is no one cheering you on, or maybe there is, and you just didn’t notice.
This post was originally published on Medium in the Middle-Pause publication.
