Discomfort
1
This is one reason I workout: To face discomfort.
It is so important for me to do this.
I am working on a way of being in the world, and the path isn’t easy. Sometimes, it just sucks.
I ache, I’m tired, I want to do anything BUT workout. But when I bring myself to do it, I always feel better after I am done.
I never push to the point of pain. I don’t believe in the whole “pain is gain” thing. Discomfort is gain. Pain is suffering. I become familiar with the line between the two in my workouts.
When I feel discomfort, I have to choose whether or not I’m going to keep going. I may modify the workout a bit – move slower, choose an easier move. But I don’t quit just because of the discomfort.
When I feel pain, I know it is time to back off and possibly even press “pause”…or “stop”. It is time to rest, not push.
What is pain? A pulled muscle. Ongoing soreness that won't go away. A mind or body that is exhausted and would honestly benefit more from rest than a workout. (It is a fine line.)
What is discomfort? Being cozy in my bed with my mind telling me to get up and workout. That moment mid-workout when I'm sweaty and sore and wondering if that 15 minutes was good enough so that I can press stop now. The decision when I have a full day planned and a small 40 minute window to either relax or workout.
How do I work through that discomfort? I curse at the t.v. I scream, yell, grunt, sweat, and sometimes, cry. I always breathe, and pay attention to my breath. (In the process, I often realize that I was holding my breath, or not breathing fully.) I pay attention to what is going on in my mind and what I’m feeling in my body. I don’t judge myself for not working out like the others are.
I realize how privileged I am to be doing this – that my body is in good enough shape to be working out, that I have the time and the luxury of a roof over my head and blu-ray player and kids who will do their own thing long enough for me to sweat it all out.
I realize that I am setting an example for those kids who are doing their own thing.
I realize that they see me pushing myself, that they can hear the grunts and cries.
I realize that someday, they may decide that if mom can do it, so can they.
If I’m feeling discomfort in the middle of the workout, it is nothing compared to the uplifting feeling I get from knowing that I’m setting an example for others to work through their own discomforts – to do what they need to do to be and feel well.
2
This is one reason I do my practice: To face discomfort.
It is so important for me to do this.
I am working on a way of being in the world, and the path isn’t easy. Sometimes, it just sucks.
I ache, I’m tired, I want to do anything BUT my practice. But when I bring myself to do it, I always feel better after I am done.
I never push to the point of pain. I don’t believe in the whole “pain is gain” thing. Discomfort is gain. Pain is suffering. I become familiar with the line between the two in my practice.
When I feel discomfort, or feel as if I’m causing discomfort, I have to choose whether or not I’m going to keep going. I may modify my practice a bit – move slower, choose a kinder response. But I don’t quit just because of the discomfort.
When I feel pain, or feel as though I am causing pain, I know it is time to back off and possibly even pause….or stop. It is time to rest, not push.
What is pain? Ongoing sadness or anger that won't go away. Confusion where I can't seem to find a ground. A mind or body that is exhausted and would honestly benefit more from rest than returning to practice. (It is a fine line.)
What is discomfort? Being cozy in my home and in my privilege with my mind and my heart reminding me that I can do more. That moment mid-practice when the disagreement happens and there is silence or anger and I'm wondering if it would be better to just apologize and make peace. The decision I have to make when I am expecting something to happen one way (an election, an interaction with a stranger, the flow of traffic, a conversation with my kids) and it goes nothing like I'd had expected.
How do I work through that discomfort? If I’m alone, I curse. I scream, yell, grunt, sweat, and sometimes, cry. If I’m not alone, I sometimes do the same. But I always breathe, and pay attention to my breath. (In the process, I often realize that I was holding my breath, or not breathing fully.) I pay attention to what is going on in my mind and what I’m feeling in my body. I don’t judge myself for not practicing or behaving like the others are.
I realize how privileged I am to be doing this – that my health is in good enough shape to be doing this practice, that I have the time and the luxury of a roof over my head and a certain color of skin and family and friends who will do their own thing while I turn deeply into the contemplation, or actuality of the practice.
I realize that I am setting an example for those family and friends who are doing their own thing.
I realize that they see me pushing myself, that they can hear the grunts and cries.
I realize that someday, they may decide that if I can do it, so can they.
If I’m feeling discomfort in the middle of the practice, it is nothing compared to the uplifting feeling I get from knowing that I’m setting an example for others to work through their own discomforts – to do what they need to do to be and feel well.