That Time I Was A Little Bitch...

If I recall, one of my posts talks about hitting that moment where you want to quit and then pushing past it. This touches on a similar notion but ends a little differently.

This time the story ends with me being a bit of a little bitch...

So, after enjoying some food-filled, booze-laden fun last week, I've been trying to hit the gym hard and eat healthy. The reason I don't say eat "healthier," as opposed to "healthy," is because eating Doritos for 3 meals a day would likely be "healthier" than what I was throwing back in Vancouver. So after returning home, I knew I needed to revisit my general lifestyle habits and try to counteract any actions that had potentially fattened me up in 4 short days.

The food side of thing wasn't too bad, because a lot of healthy food tastes really good. Funny how that works, but it's true. I enjoy most of the meals that also happen to be conducive to my goals, and as such, getting back on track, as opposed to eating truffle cream spaghetti and chocolate mousse (not even scratching the surface, you have no idea...), isn't too difficult. Chicken tastes good. Halibut tastes good. Tomatoes taste good...even when they're not served with bocconcini. So the food side of things is alright.

The gym, however? Welcome to my personal world of pain...

One day this week, I literally found myself saying out loud, "Don't be such a little bitch, finish it." I'd like everyone to take a moment and picture me, sweaty at the gym, barbell overhead, actually speaking out loud to myself about not being a "little bitch." Does it get better? And by better, I mean worse? Absolutely. The next phrase that I deemed appropriate to share with myself was, "quit acting like such a pussy and finish this." I'm a 30 year-old woman, telling herself not to act like a pussy. Actually? And guess what? I finished. Some. Most. Almost all. Okay, all, I finished it all, but it was pathetic. Or it felt pathetic, anyway. Now, that being said, I often find that after having a lacklustre workout, your next session feels great. You're motivated by having pushed through the tough parts, and revitalized for the new endeavour!

Not so much...

Next day, I slacked off and didn't train at all. Day after that? Such a struggle. Start to finish, I felt like I had regressed a year in my skill and strength, and would be lucky to walk out of the gym alive. And it's funny that I felt so bad about my workout, because I actually PR'd my bench press, which is pretty fun, but even with that, everything felt like such a battle. Movements were awkward and laboured. I was out of breath, yet not breaking my usual sweat. You know, the type that rivals a geyser - that kind of sweating is my specialty. Super enjoyable with my giant boobs, too. Everyone loves sweaty, giant boobs. Slash no one does. But whatever. No giant, sweaty boobs for this dumb ass, since I couldn't get myself to sweat if I tried. And I did try. It's just that trying looked like a limbless giraffe that had suffered a stroke. Whilst trying to smash weights. Because that's clearly what giraffes are into. Giraffes love to lift. They're all about #gains, right? (As if, a real giraffe would kick your head in for discussing #gains. I wish I was a giraffe so that I could kick people who say #gains. Except for when I say it. It's cute when I say it.) Okay, maybe a little giraffe overkill but whatever. I wasn't sweating, I could barely move my body in a fashion that resembled training, and I just felt like shit. And it sucked because it wasn't a one-off, I'd been in disaster mode for a few days.

The mouth is smiling but the eyes are crying, "Help! I'm being a total pansy ass!"

Turns out telling myself not to be a little bitch hadn't worked. I was, in fact, being a little bitch.

Keeping all of this in mind, I have taken measures to throw myself back into the game. I've got a session scheduled with Zeus for tomorrow morning, and he'll remind me what it feels like to sweat for real. And I know I'll care about impressing him and so being a pussy simply won't be an option. And I'm confident that after a week of struggling to push past this plateau, I'll be ready to go. Shit, I'll likely Instagram a bunch of gym pics, maybe hashtag #fitfam or #gymlife, perhaps a little gym mirror selfie? If you're lucky...

The reality is that I hate feeling like such a failure in the gym, and I hate that it lasted more than one day. However, I'm going to try to move away from dwelling on negative bullshit, and say that I'm glad I've employed mechanisms that will hold me accountable and force me to push past the lull. And it'll work. That's why I have my #fitnessvillage - they get me back on track when I struggle. Even when my struggles are taking a bit longer than planned to be over.

And yes, I understand that the way I felt was likely a bit over the top but the truth is, that sticking with these lifestyle changes sometimes requires being a bit harsh. I've mentioned the importance of self-love and forgiveness, and I stand by that, but some days self-love includes a little tough love, and what I need right now to refocus is to be firm and call myself out a bit. I can give myself a pat on the back this weekend... Slash pats on the back are for pussies.

So tomorrow I plan on getting my ass handed to me, in the best possible way. And I can assure you that tomorrow morning will be the time I ran the barbell's show (pretending we can talk about a barbell as if it's a human), not the time I was a little bitch. I mean, because that was the other time. You know, the time I just talked about? Right. I'll stop now...