“Well behaved women seldom make history.“
Laurel Thatcher Ulrich
I was running this morning, doing H.I.I.T.
H.I.I.T. is High Intensity Interval Training. The goal is to max your heart rate for 30-45 seconds, recover, and do it again a few times in order to improve general performance and burn reserved fat stores. I hear it’s The Truth so I’ve been adding a couple of sessions to my regular routine to decide if it’s worth the hype. Plus, since it’s new (to me) it will ward off boredom (I get bored if I don’t keep things fresh).
By the time I got to the end–the sessions are 20-30 minutes–my legs were resistant and I was leaning. My sinuses were on fire (I have another cold) and all I could think was really, girl?
Partly incredulous but not in a negative way. See, athleticism–ummm, let’s just say it’s never been my strong point.
So where recent years have found me sweating on purpose (even in spite of colds that defy Tylenol Multi-Symptom, ginger tea, and what I thought was my general wellness) I am still convincing myself that this is me. She’s good people, I think, but sometimes she can be a shrinking violet and has a hard time, erehem, asserting her presence.
This morning, I wasn’t sure I should even go to the gym at all. I figured I was asking for trouble running with a cold in the petri dish of germs that a humid gym can be. Besides, I didn’t wanna hear about it from the Well Meaning if it turned out that I got sicker after the endeavor. Here would be the fitness fetish I usually wish would blend into beige on Front Street wearing neon pink.
Oh well. Even this sometimes shrinking violet knows that playing it safe is a sure way of getting the same results. I’m not interested in the belly I had a month ago nor the stats I had last year. Sure they’re good enough, but enough is too often a euphemism for mediocre or worse, an excuse for laziness.
I know when enough is enough. An overflowing closet or a stomache are not really cues; they are alarms that give me headaches I don’t need. So I’m careful to be conscious of enough. But there are times in life, like today, when just doing enough is, if not lazy, a surefire way to get that. Enough. Just enough. I can’t settle for that. Especially not when I’m capable of more.
Settling? Ummm, not part of my vocab.
Yeah I admit it’s usually easier. Maybe in some distant (or not so distant) future I will regret dying my hair orange and piercing my nose, HIIT’ing with a cold, turning down the job offer and the guy–all of which would’ve been safer moves for sure. But when you want something else (dare I admit, something more) you can’t just play it safe. And I do want more. Gosh I do–I do, Universe! Are you listening?