“My name is Lisa, and I’m an exercise addict.”
If I was going to join a 12-step group at this point, I’m fairly sure that’s the admission you’d hear coming out of my mouth by way of introduction.
When my friend, Cindy, and I started a walking program 4 nights per week back in May of 2009, we wanted to get off the couch and lose weight, but we were adamant that we a.) were not going to become runners and b.) were only going to be “casual” exercisers, not like those hardcore folks you see pounding the pavement through heavy rain or triple-digit heat.
Although we would occasionally jog for maybe 50-100 yards to increase our heart rates, the pain in my knees and her hips seemed to prevent us from attempting running, even if we had wanted to do so. Thus, we kept the first resolution.
We also kept the second resolution – at least initially. The balmy spring gave way to one of the hottest summers in Oregon history, and we sensibly agreed not to walk on days which were 95 degrees or hotter. By fall, we were debating what indoor workout options we might consider for the upcoming winter. But by that time, walking had become so engrained that we just kept on walking, night after night. We shifted our route to well-lighted areas, even as we talked about trying martial arts, dance, or finding an indoor track, but somehow we managed to keep walking. Outdoors. All winter. There was even one week so cold that the water in my bottle would freeze as we walked. That was when we realized we had become fanatics. Well, so much for the second resolution.
Pride started to kick in, as we’d relay stories back and forth about the reactions of co-workers and acquaintances to our feats of temperature tolerance or distance. Our waistlines shrank, we had more energy, and suddenly we started having these crazy ideas. After walking for 8.5 miles on Thanksgiving morning to prepare for our respective Thanksgiving feasts, we started thinking “Why couldn’t we walk a half-marathon?” Then a casual conversation Cindy had with a co-worker made us start asking, “Why couldn’t we train to walk the Portland Marathon?”
Whoa. This was new territory for me. I’ve called marathoners crazy on more than one occasion, and now I was actually thinking about doing it? For real? “We’d be walking, not running, so that’s only half crazy.”
We initially started pushing ourselves with 12 mile walks on weekends, albeit not at a fast pace. After being warned of “overtraining” by a professional, we eventually purchased an online marathon training guide, and spent June and July doing the more modest ramp-up walks for speed, distance and hills. This guide propelled us to my corporate gym for the requisite cross-training sessions. We lifted weights, used elliptical trainers and stationary bikes, and walked inclines on the treadmills, trying to increase our pace from 18-20 minute miles to 15-16 minute miles.
Just about the time that Cindy, a naturally fast walker, announced that she was ready to risk paying the $135 registration fee while expecting that we would be fast enough to finish 26.2 miles in under 8 hours by October, I had come to the opposite conclusion. I was beating myself up that I couldn’t keep pace with someone 5 inches shorter than myself and with substantially shorter legs, and feeling like I would rather risk waiting to register until later when I had improved enough to feel confident. After all, if I was going to shell out $135 to take a 26.2 mile walk, I was going to get the shirt, the medal, and all the glory of accomplishment…. or die trying.
As it turned out, we didn’t have to make the decision, because the marathon was already full and registration was closed by July. I wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or disappointed, so I settled for both. Of course, when race day dawned cloudy and with heavy downpours, I moved squarely into the “relieved” camp.
Our major goal was going to be delayed by a year, but we kept on walking and cross-training 4 days per week, as had become routine in the 14 months leading up to that point. But I was already doing more than our normal schedule called for. I had added in yoga classes 1-2 days per week.
Now fast forward to the fall of 2010. Cindy had to take most of November and December off due to work commitments and a lingering cold virus, but I soldiered on alone. And then my company started offering a Zumba class 1 day per week, and I jumped at the chance to burn more calories. And samba-ed at the chance. And hip-hopped at the chance. And belly-danced at the chance. (I love dance, and I’m still waiting for the many shows and performances I’ve watched to translate into some actual dancing skill on my part.)
So here I am today. I look and feel better than I have in perhaps the past decade, but it doesn’t feel like enough on many days. My body still isn’t what I would like it to be. I feel compelled to go for the maximum calorie burn on every workout. I regret my choice to hop on the stationary bike for an hour and “only” burn 350 calories when I could have burned 600 on the elliptical. I think about things like, “How will I be able to keep this up if I ever get married or have kids? I desperately want those things, but I don’t want to be chubby again either. I don’t want to be the wife who ‘lets herself go.’”
On one of those evenings alone in the gym, I was thumbing through a fitness magazine, and followed a little flow chart that asked questions about how often you work out, do you skip social activities if they conflict with your workout schedule, how do you feel when you miss a workout, etc. At the end of the chart, I ended up squarely in the bucket that said, “You need to give yourself a break sometimes.”
And it’s true.
People say “You look great!” and ask, “What’s your secret?” I answer, “Walking, elliptical training, yoga, weights, and now Zumba.” In my head, though, my snarky (and somewhat true) answer is “Self-loathing.” There are some very healthy aspects to what I’m doing –exercise being great for the body and mind– but I’m also realizing that on the other side of the coin of exercising in the name of health is punishing myself for not being as beautiful, skinny, and athletic as other women. I’ve long struggled with feeling less worthy of love than the svelte and glamorous women around me. “I can’t force my frame into a single-digit pant size, but dammit, I can be better than I was, and then maybe whatever man chooses me won’t feel like he got short-changed in the hotness department.”
It all goes back to the lie of the Great Enemy, as so eloquently described in the book Captivating. Satan paralyzes women with the notion that we’re “too much and not enough.” I’m too tall. I’m too curvy. I’m too uncoordinated. I’m not skinny enough. I’m not graceful enough. I’m not pretty enough. I’m not desirable enough to get a man. Lest you men think the lie stops at such a shallow level, it includes much more. I’m too independent. I’m too standoffish. I’m too critical. I’m not compassionate enough. I’m not smart enough. I’m not self-disciplined enough.
And so the exercise I’m doing is generally quite good for me, but the Enemy is ruining it with guilt that it’s not enough. I’m not enough. And that needs to stop. I need to keep making good choices for my health, but not get so beat up in the process.
“My name is Lisa, and I’m an exercise addict. I need to find a better balance. I need to be nicer to myself. But mostly, I need to find God’s grace to a woman He created to be tall, curvy, introspective and just as worthy of love as the petite, athletic, seemingly picture-perfect women He also created. Amen.”
