Vicious Cycle

This is a cycle that I find myself stuck in.  When it comes to working out, I can't seem to get past the awful chore to the fun activity, past the self-loathing to the self-love.  Because exercise sucks.  A lot.  Especially when you're completely out of shape.

I decided to go for a bike ride today.  Riding a bike is more fun than going to the gym, which is why I bought one.  I figured it would help me get out and exercise if the method was somewhat enjoyable.  This sort of worked a couple of summers ago.  I lived in Boulder and rode my bike to work every day.  This was great in the summer.  But sumer in Colorado doesn't last long and soon enough it was too cold and dark to commute on my bike.  I stopped exercising

I planned to start small today: the shortest path on the roads around my apartment.  This worked well at first.  I was flying down the road, wind streaming around me, having fun.  Then I turned the final corner and started up the long hill back to my apartment

I was already breathing heavy.  Winded due to my lack of exercise for the past six months.  But I kept pedaling.  Moving up the hill.  Trying to control my breathing.  Heart pounding in my ears.

Is the hill getting longer?  Is it really this steep?

Take another breath.

The traffic is muted. It sounds like I'm listening to it from underwater.  Is it the wind?  Is it my heart beating in my ears?  Is it something else?

Another breath.  Try to slow my pounding heart.  Keep pedaling.

Why can't I do this?  The hill isn't that steep.  It can't be more than a quarter of a mile long.   What's wrong with me?

I'm slowing down.  Am I going too slow?  Do the people driving past notice how slow I'm going?  I can't speed up, though.  It's all I can do to keep my legs moving.

The bike wobbles.  That's not good.

Keep pedaling.

A five year old could do this.  I could have done it two years ago.  How did I let this happen to myself?

And now I'm panting.  I'm having a hard time getting enough air.

Another wobble.  Time to get off and walk.

But my legs are wobbling, too.  They feel rubbery.  I'm not sure they're going to keep supporting me.  I'm not even sure which way is up.  One step at a time.  Trying to trust that my body is still vertical, that my legs can hold my weight.  That the laws of physics haven't just decided to stop working.

The sidewalk becomes distorted and wavy.  I can barely hear the traffic at all anymore.  My heart won't stop pounding.  It might actually burst out of my chest.  I can't catch my breath.

I veer to the left, drop my bike, fall forward on my face.  Gasping, dizzy, scared.  Trying to banish the feeling that I'm drowning by the side of the road.

What's wrong with me?  Why can't I complete a simple half-mile bike ride?  How could I have failed so utterly?

I still can't catch my breath.  Can't slow down my heart.  Can't even move.  This isn't just exhaustion.  This is the beginning of a panic attack. That's why my lungs won't do their job.  That's why resting isn't leading to relaxation.  That's why my body still seems convinced that it is trying to pedal a bike up a long, steep hill at the bottom of the ocean.

Recognizing that it's a panic attack helps.  I can deal with that, ride it out, calm myself down.  I stop panting.  Hold my breath for a second.  Let it out.

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

My heart slows.  The tightness begins to loosen.

Breathe in.

I can smell the grass my face is buried in.  Feel it, dry and coarse against my cheeks.

Breathe out.

Turn my head.

There are the cars.  I can hear them again.

The drivers are probably looking at me.  Wondering at my failure.  Witnessing my own private shame.

It doesn't matter.  I don't know them.  I'll never meet them.  Their opinions don't matter.  May not even be their opinions.  Just my projections.

Let it go.

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

Rise to my knees.

Still dizzy.  But it's different.  I don' feel like I'm floating in a pool, wondering where the sky has gone.  It's like I'm butter in a frying pan that someone is trying to coat.  At least I know where the ground is.  Gravity has meaning again.

I kneel for another minute.  Locate my bike.

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

Heart still pounding.  But I'm not scared it's going to burst out of my chest.

I stand, pull up my bike, start walking.

I'm not going to get back on.  Even though I can see my apartment.  Even though riding would be faster.  Walking is safer.

I'm leaning on my bike, putting one foot in front of the other.  Baby steps.  The panic is gone, replaced by exhaustion, shame, and a sense of failure.

I can't even ride my bike around the block.

Now I'm sitting on the couch staring at the bike.  Wishing I were just a little more in shape.  Wishing I could get in shape without triggering a panic attack.  Wishing that exercise, the thing that's supposed to make me healthy and happy, didn't leave me feeling so discouraged and awful about myself.

And tomorrow I have to get back on that bike.  I have to try to make it around the block again.  I have to risk that awful, pressing feeling of not being able to breathe or see or hear so that I can work past it.

Someday this will get easier.  It has to.

I just hope that day comes before my frustration causes me to quit.  Again.