The Fatslayer Chronicles

I’ve just had a two-part epiphany about myself and my attitude towards exercise and getting fit.

Part one happened on Friday night.

I got on the turbo trainer for my customary 45 minute workout and started pedalling away. Now, as any readers familiar with turbo trainers (or other forms of stationary cycling equipment) would testify, as a form of exercise it’s pretty damn boring. Its just me and the bike – no pleasant scenery, no fellow exercisers, nothing technically challenging, no interesting destination to strive towards, nothing to disguise the fact that it’s just me in my dining room on a bike turning the cranks and putting the pedal to the metal.

But it’s a good workout, which is the whole damn point, right?

On Friday night, about ten minutes into the workout, I thought “Jeeze, this is soooooo hard!” I wasn’t enjoying myself or having any kind of fun, and I’d have liked nothing better than to just make an excuse and quit. The thought of having to carry on for another 35 minutes before I could stop was torturous.

I gritted my teeth and carried on pedalling, and to try to make the time pass quicker I tried to analyse exactly what was so hard about what I was doing.

Were my muscles fatigued and trembling with exhaustion? No, they felt absolutely fine.

My lungs, then. Were they burning and feeling as if they were filled with shards of glass with every breath I took? No, they were fine too.

Did I have a stitch or muscle cramp? Again, no, my body felt comfortable.

So what the hell was I bloody complaining about?

After a while it dawned on me that the reason I thought it was hard was because my face was hot. That was it, plain and simple. My face was flaming, and I could see in the mirror over the fireplace that it was as red as beetroot.

And then the penny dropped. I HATE, HATE, HATE my face feeling like that. As soon as my face begins to flame it sends a signal to my brain telling me that it’s time to quit what I’m doing and run away.

A red face makes me feel unfit, even when I’m not. A red face makes me feel exposed and self-conscious – as if I’ve got a neon sign above my head saying “Fat Unfit Chick Trying To Exercise Here!”  A red face draws attention, elicits comments from strangers, and makes me stand out from the crowd. A red face is unflattering and embarrassing. A red face is to be avoided at all costs.

It’s the same with blushing. I’m very fair skinned, and have always blushed easily. Though it doesn’t faze me as much now I’m older and less self-conscious, as a child and teenager I lived in dread of that hot wave of crimson blood rushing up my neck to my hairline, making my face burn and glow. People would always comment about how red I’d gone, which would make me blush even more fiercely. And, as with exercise, I’d always want the ground to swallow me up, so that I could hide from the comments and the horrible, stomach-clenching attention.

So, realising that was a bit of an eye-opener for me. It’s not necessarily exercise per se that I don’t enjoy, but the sweaty red-faced huffing-and-puffing and LOOKING UNFIT that I dislike.

On to the second part of my epiphany.

This happened yesterday when K and I went to London to the Cycle Show. Between drooling over all the new ’06 MTB bikes and checking out the new kit, we took the time to watch a couple of mini duathlon races that were taking place in the arena.

Each heat had 6 competitors, and comprised a 5k race. Three minutes of cycling on turbo trainers hooked up to a virtual reality predominantly uphill mountainous 3k course, followed by a 2k run on the treadmill, followed by a return to the bike to finish the remaining 2k or so of the course. The fastest male and female competitors at the end of the weekend each won a £2000 bike.

I watched in absolute wonderment and awe as the competitors (some as young as 14, some as old as 65) pushed themselves to the limit to win their race. They had to go flat-out and non-stop for the whole 5k, and studying their faces I could see how deep they we were digging into their reserves. Some were red faced with mouths hanging open to suck in air, some were white faced and nauseous-looking, and ALL were – without exception – absolutely dripping with sweat.

I turned to K and said “Have you ever pushed yourself that hard?” and he looked surprised, and replied, “Yes, of course. Plenty of times. Why, haven’t you?”

And I had to admit that no, in the whole course of my life I couldn’t recall a single occasion when I’d pushed myself THAT hard.

I realised that when the going gets tough, I tend to slow down or give up. I’m not naturally competitive, so I’d rather fail or come second (or third or fourth or last) rather than push push push myself to the point of exhaustion. I hate being hot and sweaty in public (see above), and I’m not a huge fan of pain or discomfort, so when my face starts to burn and my muscles to hurt, I allow myself to ease back.

Hence my awe at these people, showing me what it’s like to be a competitor, and the grit and hard work and effort and pain that it takes to make yourself better and stronger and fitter.

Now, having had my two epiphanies, I need to consolidate what I’ve learned and try to develop a psychologically different approach towards exercise. I’ve got to try to counteract the negative connotations of sweat and a burning face, with positive associations of health and well-being, and pride at having pushed myself. I’ve got to develop a more gutsy attitude, so that I see challenges as something to be overcome, rather than avoided. I’ve got to learn that nothing worthwhile is achieved without sacrifice and pain and effort and determination.

I want to get over this exercise aversion. I want to be fitter. Most of all I want to feel proud of myself for having dug deep to go the extra mile.

I’ll let you know if I see any improvement…