Sometimes I feel like I’m living my life in limbo. Always,
preparing for and waiting for that next deployment or that next relocation, or
both. Striving to get past it and move on with life, all the while busying
myself with life’s daily activities and tasks, but still, just killing time. I
can’t shake this feeling lately. Falling into bed at night feeling a looming
sense of despair only to wake in the morning planning how I will get through it
today.
This morning I decided to go to the gym. It’s probably been
a good six months since I’ve been to the base gym. That’s not to say I haven’t
been active. Activity is very necessary to my well being. But, I get bored
easily. I’ve found that I get the best results from water workouts. Swimming,
playing with those foamy water weights, and treading all work well. Not only do
I NEED to move my body, but constant mental activity is equally necessary to my
positive state of mind. What this means is that when I exercise I have to have
something to listen to as well as something to read or someone to talk to
during the ritual. Zoning out does not make for a good workout. I won’t last long
in a deadlined mental state. (I realize I may have adult onset ADHD. Although,
it’s possible I’ve always had it).
For several months I’ve jumped between going to Curves,
using my pool and using my home gym. Curves got dull once my gabbing buddy moved
away. While I thoroughly enjoy my quality time with Triton working out in our
pool, the weather is forcing less frequent swimming stints. So, in an effort to
bring my spirits back to an acceptable level I filled my bag with stock trading
books, writing magazines, a set of headphones, my smart phone with MP3 library
(consisting mostly of high energy, fast paced pop and rock music and lightly
salted with inspirational classical tunes), a notebook and a pencil and headed
off to the gym.
After my re-instruction phase on signing in and obtaining
towels and lockers I sauntered around peeking into the different rooms settling
on the Cardio Theater. Since something in my foot was sore from last night’s
softball practice I opted for the recumbent bike. This machine would also allow
me to whip out my notebook and write if I was so inspired. As I set up my work
station I notice that the man in the bike next to mine is missing his arm up to
his elbow. He looked to be in his 60s. His physique was such that I assumed he
must be in the gym daily and he sported a grey ARMY t-shirt. As I programmed my
workout I tried not to make it obvious that this isn’t something I see every
day. I don’t know what his story was but the way I saw it in that instance was
that if he can find the courage to get up every morning, take care of his body,
and carry on with life then a healthy, thirty-something, able-bodied, intact
person such as myself has very little to be miserable about.
This simple encounter inspired me to finish an hour and a
half stint on the bike and a 30 minute strength training session. Now this
doesn’t happen every day. Usually I spend too much time talking myself into
getting off my butt. But there is that rare occasion when my hormonal imbalance
or feeling-sorry-for-myselfness will spur me to do something completely out of
character. Like go to the gym and show people my true colors of the weird lady
who is writing in her notebook and be-bopping to her music while on a stationary
bike.
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