The Gym

     Why am I writing about the gym on a cancer blog? Because it's part of my story, part of how I deal with my cancer, part of me and my life! I started going to the gym when I was 18 years old. My parents are not gym people. I don't know how or why I fell in love with the gym, but I am a total gym rat! I like it so much, I even took a class at BYU to certify to teach aerobics. If I were going to rank my favorite things to do at the gym my list would look something like this:
     Zumba/Yoga (tied for first place)

A treadmill and climbing wall in one!

     Group weight lifting classes
     A tread-climber
     Kick-boxing (I'm still new to this)
     Water aerobics
     Circuit training
     Floor combos (my own combination of cardio machines and weight lifting after)
     Volleyball
     Indoor track
     Anything else on a court (dead last!)

     Notice the obvious absence of swimming? That's because I don't know how to swim for fitness! I cried my way out of swim classes as a kid, and gave myself terrific anxiety over the water, but love being in it for fun. Maybe someday I'll try taking a class again...
     Anyway, adjusting to life in the Caribbean really did a number on my gym attendance. I tried running on the island, but never got used to the humidity the entire time I was there. I did put forth some effort at staying in shape, but nothing quite like the gym rat life I had been comfortable with before. Then when I got morning sickness with my son, my workouts REALLY fell apart. I was a sporadic exerciser for years after that. We had a membership at the YMCA in Georgia, which was awesome, but I never attended as regularly as I expected myself to.

The Y in Lawrenceville, GA

     Then we moved back to Utah, licking our wounds, and when I tried to do yoga it wasn't the same. My body was still stretched out from childbirth, and it made embarrassing noises! We were broke and broken. We were blessed to live in a basement, but with 6 people in two rooms, and all the stress of unfinished medical school, a newborn, and getting used to living in someone else's home... it was a lot to handle. I didn't handle it well. I knew I needed to change something, but didn't know how. Then things got worse. And even worse. And even though people thought I was a pleasant, happy person, I was deeply depressed. "Pleasant and happy" for me is a far cry from the enthusiastic and bubbly personality that normally just oozes out of me and permeates everything around me, causing people to groan and say "You are SO annoyingly happy, I hate you!" and they weren't joking. I've heard that statement several times.

     So, I finally (FINALLY!) dragged my butt in to see the Doctor and discussed my depression with him. He put me on a medication that helped me not be the crazy lady on the news who drives off a cliff with all her kids in the car. Things were a little better. I started training for a 5K to get my butt out of the house and moving. As soon as I could run 5K, I quit. Then my parents' apartment in their basement opened up. There's just something about having your own laundry and kitchen space (even under someone else's roof,) and things were a little better again.  A few months after moving I brought up the subject of joining the gym with my husband. We discussed it, with the conclusion that we couldn't afford it. But I couldn't let it go. I needed to be at the gym. I prayed about it, and felt strongly that I needed to join. I discussed it with my husband again, and he supported me in joining. Since this process took a couple of months, I ended up joining the first week of January. The absolute WORST week to join a gym! I started off on the cardio machines. I slowly started incorporating some weights, but not very much. I felt a little better. I would sneak peaks at the classes, and wish that I was in good enough shape to be in them. My sister-in-law attended a Zumba class with me, and after that, I joined a different class every day of the week, and sometimes two classes in one day.

Two of my instructors AFTER class. Nobody really
wanted to be in a picture after class, but it was my first
day back after the surgery, so they humored me.

Now, when I miss a day at the gym, I feel it. Not so much physically, but psychologically. Every time they come out with another news bit on physical fitness and depression I wish I could explain how remarkably I have felt the benefits of physical fitness in my life. I've also met amazing people through the gym. I've struggled making friends here, but the gym is the exception to that. It has blessed my life in so many ways!

I took this on the day of my cry fest with my friend
who gave me the "BE BRAVE" necklace.
We were still crying when I took it. :)

     If you were wondering where the part of my blog is when I talk about God, here it is. The timing of all of this - from my children, to my husband's career, to something as simple as my physical fitness - it all testifies to His plan. He prepared me. He lead me, even when I didn't want to be lead. I can't imagine how things would have gone if I had discovered my cancer in the midst of my depression. I can't imagine how my life would be. It's likely it would not be. My fitness level has enhanced my recovery. It has given me an outlet for my stress. I could go on, and on, but for tonight, my message to you, dear reader, is to take good care of your health. Make one change toward healthier living today. Add to that change when it becomes comfortable. Healthier living helps us to be happier, and God actually wants us to have joy. Do your monthly self breast exam. Park at the end of the parking lot. Drink an extra glass of water. Take a hike. Whatever you can handle - one small change, which will lead to another...