Throw a ball at me and I'll probably duck. Kick a ball at me and I may fall on my face trying to return it.
I've always worked out but it was an occasional thing: a run every other weekend, a gym class here, whatever I would remember to fit in.
My husband, on the other hand, is really athletic. After playing soccer through high school he took up running in college. He qualified for the Boston Marathon running his first marathon. He runs miles around a 6:45 pace**. He works as the shoe buyer at one of the best running stores in the country. I don't say this to boast, (OK, maybe a little), but to let you understand the difference between us.
For the longest time I would never let the husband see me workout -- or heaven forbid! -- run. I was nervous about what he thought, what his runner friends thought about me.
But he always just told me that it didn't matter if I worked out or not-- just as long as I felt good.
Our first year into marriage I was working nights and really struggling with life in general. One day, after crying to him about various things, he suggested that I go for a run, or try working out... just a little bit... each day.
I scoffed at him, but secretly I started doing it. I started running, I joined a gym and I discovered that I love to exercise.
I love the adrenaline after I work out-- the energy and rush.
I love sleeping better at night.
I love the sweat and the hot shower after.
I love the time to think, to pray, to let my mind go blank
I love the accomplishment I feel when I'm a little bit sore the next day.
But as much as I've discovered that I love to exercise, I also hate it.
I hate getting up earlier, or taking time out of my day when I could be doing something else.
I hate the first five minutes when I run-- the tightness in my chest and my leaden feet.
I hate running hills and the fact that you can't run anywhere in Seattle without encountering one.
I hate how much effort it takes some days.
But I keep doing it. Finally get it and I've gotten to the point where I need it in my life.
Granted I don't ever run over 4 miles (one time I ran 8 miles but it was because I got lost in my husband's hometown-- long story,) and I rarely put more than a half hour's worth of time into it. But I'm still doing it several times a week.
And over Christmas, I even went for a run with the husband. Granted, it was after he ran 9 miles by himself... but still, I let him see me run.
I'm not saying this to make you feel guilty, or pressured or really anything at all. Just my love/hate story. :)
p.s. I would like to add that the 6:45 pace is his training run pace, not his racing pace. Don't worry, I can't run that fast.