Today is the official halfway point. I love taking time to reflect at significant, though essentially arbitrary points in time.
I like this program. I like the challenge, I like the comraderie, I like being in shape again. (Clearly, what I’m doing is not what anyone will be able to purchase from an infomercial.)
In the past forty five days, I haven’t had a single drop of alcohol. I’ve proven to myself that I can survive and even workout on a severely restricted calorie diet. This is the first diet I’ve ever been on in my life, and even though it was unnecessary, I’m proud of my willpower (and occasional cheating ingenuity) to stay with it. This is not to say I wouldn’t really love a slice of my mother’s chocolate cake right now, but if you had one to offer me, I now know I can turn it down.
I’ve worked through an injury that actually scared me a lot. I was able to back off, rest, strengthen, and return to the workout. I’m still not 100%, and that knee may never be 100%, but I don’t need surgery.
I’ve learned a lot about fitness. I have a whole mental file of additional workouts to do after this program is over. If I want to stay in this good of shape afterward, I know exactly how to do it.
I’ve made a lot of friends that I look forward to seeing everyday. Plus, we’ve already seen each other at our worst, so in many ways, there are no secrets between us. In a city that seems to pride itself on respecting other people’s privacy and personal space (even if only in spirit), I’m surprised at how quickly we’ve broken the touch barriers. Whether it’s sweaty hugs, or grabbing muscle to feel if it’s more toned, or faux boxing, we act like we’ve known each other for years. As a girl whose skin always craves human contact, I’m in heaven.
Something else I didn’t realize until today in class. Today, I wore cheer shorts, and a t-shirt with the arms cut off. Nothing fancy, but John mentioned that it’s the most he’s ever seen me wear. He’s right, and by the end of class, I’d stripped down to my sports bra. I dress so modestly outside the gym, but yet, when I’m in class, I’m so comfortable with this group, knowing they won’t think any differently of me whether I keep my t-shirt on or take it off. And they won’t think differently of me whether I have a muffin top or a six pack. We judge based on effort and improvement, and I like that. (By staring at myself in the mirror wearing very little, I’m gradually getting accustomed to the new shape and lines of my body. It may only be noticeable to me, but I am so intimately familiar with my own body, that it’s awkward getting to know it again.)
I’m glad I’m doing it. It’s a lot of fun. But next year, I will watch Monday night football from my couch holding a beer, not from a treadmill at the gym.
