Introduction & Early Stages

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September 2004

Monday, September 13, 2004

So my journey down the health and fitness road has been paved by extraordinary commitment, this time to exercise and the gym. For two weeks I’ve been very consistent about working out, going to the gym if not every day, every other day. I even got a personal trainer to help me out from time to time – only because without someone counting for me, how will I know what comes after the number 9?

My goals regarding exercise are very simple: I don’t want to do "curls for the girls" or any of that crap. I just want to wake up and feel 10% better. I know I will always be in pain and I will always feel stiff and ache and hurt. But if I can get my body moving for 15, 20, or even 30 minutes a day doing cardio exercise and even (dare I say?) light muscle strengthening…maybe things won’t be as bad. Every study I skim, every lecture I only pay half attention to, every book I get the Cliff’s Notes for … all these sources tell me that exercise is good for people with arthritis. So it’s time to stop talking and start sweating.

And with a name like Cecil, this trainer has to be good.

Tuesday, September 21, 2004

The gym is not the most pleasant place to hang out. My gym is filled with bigger, stronger and more beautiful people than I could ever hope to be. Everywhere I look there is someone running faster, lifting more or stretching further. It seems like there isn’t a soul in the room knows what it’s like to do a 30-minute cardio workout and worry if they’re able to walk when they’re through. There isn’t a soul in the room, in the building, in the world…who knows what it’s like to exercise when every part of your body tells you it can’t.

But I keep going back day after day, because, for a brief moment, sometimes 10 seconds, sometimes 10 minutes, I feel good. The endorphins are rushing. The sweat is pouring. The muscles are working. And the joints are silenced.

My joints always get the last laugh though, when they come roaring back to life – almost always more cranky, more annoyed and more bitter – right after a workout. The next morning is filled with certain soreness and achiness which rivals even the worst days. And I lay awake in bed wondering how I’ll possibly gain the strength and the courage to return again the following day.

But somehow I’ve been able to return. It’s been the most victorious two weeks of my life. Maybe one day it won’t hurt as much.