So I walked into the gym this morning, as usual. Like every morning, I threw on the same black crop pants that I wore the day before, washed, cleaned, folded and ready to go. On top, I wore my raggedy gray v-neck t-shirt that is in a rotation with the same one, but blue. Let’s just say, it probably doesn’t smell like perfume. If people looked at me, which I’m sure they did, they have to assume I only have one or two pairs of workout pants, and two t-shirts, at most.
To those people who are concerned about the variety in my wardrobe, my husband can attest to the fact that I have an array of exercise clothes. See, I do wear those clothes, but not to workout. You’re thinking, then why the hell do you have them? Well, because stylish and cute workout clothes these days tend to be pretty pricey. And, why the hell would I want to wear expensive shit to sweat in and destroy?
You’re now thinking that I’m wrong because the high quality workout gear is breathable and moisture-wicking. It is made to sustain sweaty, high-intensity workouts. But, not mine. Trust me. My entire life I have sweat a lot. And, I mean a lot. There are days I run for thirty minutes, and without question, people make the same comments: “Wow, you got a good workout in,” or, “You must have been here a long time.” I’m talking I can wring out my clothes.
So, as I walked up the steps to where the cardio machines were this morning, I couldn’t help but notice the majority of people were either reading from their tablets or from magazines. I guess I’m missing something. Or, there is something wrong with me. When I go to workout, I push myself as hard as I possibly can until I’m basically laying on the floor panting. Call it what you want, but I refer to it as being a “former athlete.”
The truth is, I don’t know how to workout casually, or at a slow pace. My entire life I was on such an intense regimen that never consisted of going through the motions, while reading the latest news. The only things I ever read was the timer.
Just because I ended my soccer career doesn’t mean I’ve let go of characteristics that got me to where I went all along. I’m still fiercely competitive. Instead of playing an opponent, I’m beating the time on the treadmill. I’m still very driven. Instead of trying to perfect my strike, I am now striving to race faster. And, finally, I still like to fight. So, instead of pushing myself to my threshold on the field, I’m doing it on whatever piece of equipment I choose that day.
It’s who I am. Call it crazy. Call it unhealthy. Call it whatever you want. The thrill I get from a challenging session is far more satisfying than wearing cute, trendy clothes. I wear the shit out of my workout clothes like I do the bottom of my shoes. Maybe one day I will be able to slow down. But, until then, I am going to keep on pounding away at it.