Honestly …

I think most of want to strive to be our absolute best. I know I do. The problem is sometimes what we want, versus who we are can completely steer things in a different direction. For me personally, the battle is between the Hopeful vs the Honest. Sometimes someone presents you with something that your Hopeful side thinks is the best, while your Honest side says we know this isn’t really going to happen.

My Hopeful side has had so many strident dreams. I saw myself as a non-smoker decades before it really happened. Even during those bouts where I actually quit, the Honest side of me knew, that with the right mix (usually alcohol plus other smokers) I would dabble until one day I’d just sort of say fuck it, and start smoking again. Maybe it’s self-prophecy, but that happened several times. Today the Honest side of knows the smoker in me has literally been extinguished. It just took longer than Hopeful had hoped for.

Every diet and exercise program I’ve been on, the Hopeful side of me hoped I would stick with things. The Honest side of me knew I loved pizza and pasta and laying around with my nose in a good book, or worse yet my eyes glued to Netflix, more than I loved Kale or Gyms.

Hopeful saw me getting up early every morning, and Honest knew I loved sleep too much. The comparison list goes on.

Last week’s foray into intense workout classes was absolutely fueled by Hopeful. But they weren’t costing me anything, and the benefits outweighed everything else in my life, so Honest sort of sailed along with it. By the fourth class, my knees were screaming, even with that day off in between. On Friday morning I took one look at the exercises of the day and saw the constant up and down on the floor adding into the mix the burpees and Honest said, yeah this isn’t going to happen, and turned around and walked out of the class.

I of course explained my position with the instructor and THE Trainer before the mellow dramatic exit and told them I’d see them Sunday for the 8:30 AM class, with Hopeful having complete intent on showing up. I sort of hobbled my way through the day, certain that whatever tendons around my knees that had been chewed up, would be fine in a day or two.

Fast forward to Saturday, and the pain seemed worse. Hopeful AND Honest had every intent of at least walking the lake. Didn’t happen. Not out of laziness, but out of sheer discomfort. I promised myself that I wouldn’t beat myself up over things, and tried to sort of take it easy. But the discomfort was a constant reminder. That night the pain had kept me tossing and turning and feeling whiny. I finally tossed in the towel around 6:30 Sunday morning and gave into my nagging conscience and walked the damn lake.

See I was a bit worried that Honest was starting to take control and smother Hopeful’s dreams. The walk, surprisingly kicked my ass. There was once upon a time when I was a speed walker, before speed walking was even a thing. Now I was having old people not just pass me up on the walk with no huffing and puffing, but they were – what’s the word when someone passes you more than once on the race track? Yeah, that was happening to me.

Whatever. I put my pride aside made the full mile, and headed home. I guess one week of working out doesn’t an athlete make?

The knees and shins were still hurting all day Sunday and I was starting to get a tiny bit alarmed. The last workout had been Thursday and there shouldn’t really be a reason for this so many days later. Come Monday I gave my doctors office a call, explained the issue and asked if someone could give me a call back. I didn’t need to miss work to make an appointment to have my doctor say, “If doing that hurts, quit doing that.”  I took the PA call, who after asking me of course when the pain started and me telling him about the classes, assessed I was probably pushing my aging knees that were holding up a shit-ton of fat (not the exact medical terms there) to a point they really shouldn’t be at yet. He suggested ibuprofen, RICE (Rest, Ice, Compression and Elevate) and commended me on the exercising, but suggested starting with lower impact – cycling, or water aerobics and get the weight off, before trying to stomp Tokyo to the ground. And did I still want to make the appointment? I thanked him and declined the appointment.

Honest of course was quiet in the corner simply saying I knew it and Hopeful was having an anxiety attack, because this seemed like the last Great White Hope offered to me. Hopeful was also aghast at having to call the Boot Camp and admit I was too fat and too old for their classes. But I did it. Well I texted, which honestly if I had things my way, I’d almost never take a real phone call ever again anyway.

I was alarmed and shook when soon after THE Trainer was calling me back. A). Phone calls. Ugh. B). I get horrible cell phone service in my office, and C). Have I mentioned she sort of scares me?  I let the call go to voice mail, where she surprisingly did not leave a message.

Honest me in the meantime was begrudgingly admitting we could walk the lake on a semi-regular basis, trying to appease the very heartbroken Hopeful me. I never dreamed I would get into Olympiad shape. But I had hoped to have rid myself of the non-smokers weight I had put on the past year, along with the baby weight that had been hanging on for oh — twenty seven years or so.

Later that evening I got a text from THE Trainer, saying she had tried to call, and hoped to reach me, because she had something she wanted to work out with me. I felt cornered. I don’t like feeling cornered. I texted her back and we agreed to talk the following night.

Tuesday night when she called she of course first asked about my knees. By this point they really were back to just being my regular knees that only hurt every once in a while, and I’m sure my oh they’re FINE, sounded like there had never been a problem to begin with. She bypassed that and told me she had a plan. How did I feel about her being my personal trainer. I laughed, because trainers cost an average of $50-100 an hour. No WAY I could afford that. She agreed that they could be cost prohibitive, but she thought she might have a way around things. Long story short, she wanted to modify my interaction in the class, working directly under her tutelage – keeping my knee issues in mind. They had a cycle, and a row machine and could add that to my repertoire and help focus on low impact exercises in the class.

Hopeful me perked. I mean REALLY perked. She asked me to give her a little time to work things out – details, cost, etc and would get back to me.

Now, I’ve mentioned my suspicious nature before. My internal narrowing of the eyes, knowing that nothing comes for free. She had mentioned to both me and my friend that she had lost her mother at a relatively young age, primarily due to complications from diabetes that the mother didn’t take care of. She’s told me more than once she doesn’t want to see the same thing happen to me. I’m sure she is sincere there, but when these offers keep coming through, I can’t help but wonder, what’s in it for you? That’s horrible if she is sincere. But suspicious me won’t deny thinking that.

Of course the company she works for is a business and not a You’re-Kind-Of-A-Bad-Diabetic-And-We-Care Charity. So when her offer came in today, I sort of went AHA! Without really anything substantial to AHA about. She’s offering me the same price she had offered before – the caveat is a six month commitment. The cherry on top – is one month free. I don’t know if that means seven or five months, I only know that Honest me was immediately going, Oh no, no, no. No, we weren’t planning on doing this THAT long. I mean, maybe I would do it that long, but now you’re forcing me to commit, and look at me. Look at my life – outside of my job, do I look like someone who commits to things?

So I asked if I could think it over and get back to her. And then I started to weigh things out, which turned into this blog piece.

The Pros are that I want to do this. I want to get healthy. I want to get in shape. I NEED to get into shape, or embrace life as a very temporary thing.

The Cons are that whole embrace life thing – eh, it’s a gamble I say.  I don’t know if I want to do it this way for that long. I had completely planned on doing a month-to-month basis, and hoping that my successes would spur me forward. If Honest me grabs hold of the reins after a few months and says fuck this, it’s dark outside, I don’t want to wake up now, I want to know I am not flushing already paid money down the toilet.

But having already paid will motivate me, Hopeful says. Bullshit, Honest says, Have you met me? Why so long?!!?, Honest me wants to scream. And then I have my !AHA! moment again. Because it’s a business. Because they are bending over backwards for me, making me a special case, and to do so, they have to be certain it will be worth their time and money. It’s definitely NOT a charity! –

I know what the right answer to this is. Sort of. Mostly. I also know what I am dealing with. I had hoped writing this all out would somehow give me more insight to things. Make the answer clearer; but it’s as clear as mud to me right now.

So I’ve already admitted THE Trainer sort of scares me. She is sassy and she is smart, and she’s not going to be manipulated, nor is she going to put up with a litany of excuses. She will work my ass off, and sometimes the scared anxious person inside of me wonders if she will literally kill me ala heart attack or something by working my delicate little butterfly unicorn self to death. But the truth is, I’ve seen what she can do. She sent me a video the morning after we talked when I made mention of how young everyone in the morning classes are – she sent me a video of a 64 year-old woman who has been working with her for a year who can do power push-ups (the kind where you clap in between each one). SIXTY FOUR FUCKING YEARS OLD!

So if I’m being Honest here, I can whine and joke and hem and haw. I can say I am hopeful, but without putting in the work – yeah even committing to it, it’s just not going to happen. I just don’t happen to like that answer. Honestly.