An attempt. Isn't that the most that can be expected?
Yesterday, after a rollercoaster-weekend of tantrums, frustrations, elation, etc, I asked a friend to hold me accountable to work out in some way. So, last night I did a 25 minute HIIT workout from TurboFire.
After months of inactivity, every muscle in my body screamed at me. My knee burned with the fires of a thousand hells. My lungs felt as though they had been put through a shredder. Every fiber of my being wanted to give up.
I did it, though. It took all the energy I had, but I finished the workout. Afterwards, my mind wasn't racing, I wasn't anxious, I wasn't melancholic or morose. I settled into the soreness of my legs and the feeling of accomplishment. I let my heart rate decelerate from 176 BPM to 130...115...100 and I came to rest in the pulses of equal energy and exhaustion running through my body.
Was it a success as most would explain it, probably not.
For me, for the darkness wandering in my brain, this proved to be a light that dispelled the blinding darkness.
This 25 minutes of movement, discomfort and heightened senses blew away the tension.
Maybe...just maybe...a second attempt is in order.
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