Being Jaded611

While I was riding on an empty bus this morning, another 5am workout marked by shaky muscles, the word ‘grit’ popped in my head. Someone told me that I had grit not too long ago and I laughed it off, not one to take compliments graciously. It danced in my mind, intertwining itself with visual images of this journey I’m on.  Do I really have grit?

Yeah, I have grit.  Grit is waking up every morning at 4:30am to be at the gym by 5am, even when I haven’t slept very well the night before.  Grit is talking myself through every damn minute of a 45 minute cardio session, and when I feel like giving up, cranking it up another 2 levels.  Grit is getting stuck at the bottom of the hack squat machine; taking a deep breath and bringing that baby back up, inch by inch.  Grit is looking at dinner and taking a small portion when I have He-Man size hunger.  

I worked for every letter in that word and made it mine.  Smiling I looked out of the bus window with a sense of pride I’d never really felt before.  It was still dark out, but I could make out graffiti on brick wall.  I leaned closer to the window and read it: “You Go Girl”.  My smile widened as the bus pulled away.

A month and a bottle of antibiotics later the lethargy is gone and I feel like myself again.  It always suprises me how quickly one loses strength, especially upon returning to the gym and struggling to lift what was once so easy for me.  

So, I’m throwing myself back into the water, sink or swim…and I don’t plan on sinking