Merde!

After last night's post, I spent the next several hours researching (and crying, because I didn't like what I learned). There is not a definitive medical test to determine whether I have or have not been overtraining, but as much as I hate to admit it, that is unquestionably what's been going on. I was really bummed to learn that the several weeks I've suspected and tried to ignore (push through the pain, pound Aleve & Flexaril, deny, deny, deny) it has pushed my body into a fairly miserable and dangerous place and will require more time off than I would have had I listened and backed off right when it started.  Damn.

This led to a completely sleepless night,  with the exception of a very brief nap that resulted in a dream that I fell asleep while in the middle of lecturing in my Java class, woke up (in the dream) horrified and embarrassed, and then proceeded to keep answering questions on my way to the bathroom, which ended up with me crapping my pants. It was a horrifying short dream, and that ended my sleep.  I've had a hard time sleeping well for a few weeks, because of increasing pervasive body pain that has made it impossible for me to get/stay comfortable. Last night, the pain was there, but my sleep problem was due to freaking out over the forced non-workout torture that I have to go through.

I've gone through the stages of grief several times over.  I briefly reach acceptance, and then somehow come back around and convince myself that maybe, just maybe I was wrong, and if I just keep pushing things everything will improve. I dally with that thought for a while until I try to lift my arms overhead or take a step and experience the deep profound pain that has nothing to do with the awesome muscle-building pain I've grown to enjoy. Then I start the phases again.  Weeping, anger and hostility toward my body for being a betraying wuss, whining (it's not faaaaiir--other people can work out without having to take time off), bargaining (if I just sneak in a couple of five-minute finishers, throughout the day, maybe my body won't "notice") and depression/mourning. I realized this morning while explaining to L that she would have to work out with her dad for the next week, because I have to take off. 

I can also see that this is a typical response to someone whose addiction has been taken away.  I am addicted to water. I am addicted to working out.  I have been addicted to caffeine off and on throughout the years. Being addicted to "positive" things like exercise can be very positive and healthy, but the problem occurs if the addiction controls me, rather than me controlling it. Nothing would make me stop except the threat of permanent damage that would result in a permanent break rather than this ugly, temporary break. I'm so repulsed by addiction/addicts that it disgusts and embarrasses me to accept this, but it's true.  I plan to retain my addictions to working out as well as drinking copious amounts of ice water, but I will have to have the strength to stick with this rest period to get back to my healthy addictions. This feels horrible, but I am trying to view this as a challenge to my self-discipline. I can allow myself to retain my addictions only if I can maintain control over them when needed. This might be my toughest test of strength yet.


So apparently I'm not a special snowflake, and this is a pretty typical reaction for people who end up in this situation. I'm guessing that those of us who overtrain have some similar personality traits, and it's quite common that people try to ignore, deny, push through--anything but give up. 

The first hurdle for me will be to get through a one-week break. Every time I contemplate (or type) that my chest constricts and I feel like life isn't worth living. This is really hard. 

As I try to analyze the various emotions behind my panic, the first and foremost is simply that I'm losing my favorite activity in my day. That 45 minutes a day is MY time, and I look forward to it from the time I get up until my after-dinner workout.  One of my first thoughts in the morning is which workout is scheduled for the day. I slog through a day of unpleasant tasks/chores, all done for others, and my reward at the end of the day is that 45 minutes of pure joy. That's gone. For a week. I have nothing to look forward to after putting in a hard day's work.

Next is the realization that a post-menopausal woman in her mid 40s is by nature, a muscle atrophying, fat-storing machine. Every day that I take off is hard-fought conditioning that will be lost, and I will have to fight to get it back again. I do not like to lose ground or even stagnate. If I'm not progressing, I'm not happy, and this is why I tend to push the workouts so hard.  I'm fighting nature and am determined to win.


Next is the problem of how to eat. I eat a lot. I eat to fuel extremely intense daily workouts and actually struggle to eat enough to stay properly fueled during my busy work days.  I have no idea how much to eat without that workout.  I will miss eating as much as I want. I've worked really hard to get down to 15% body fat, and I don't want that number to creep up while I'm on this forced break.

The tyrannical drill sergeant that occupies my brain also yells very unpleasant things at me all of the time, particularly if I'm taking an off day or doing a lighter workout ("Lazy slacker--get moving; you don't even deserve to eat if that's all the effort you put into it."), so it becomes pretty relentless on the Asylum weeks when I take two days off. A whole week of it is not going to be fun. 

I'm still adjusting to the concept of the week off, though I am very aware that it may not be enough time.  I'm kicking myself for not catching it right away when a week would almost certainly have been enough.  At this point, I'm prepared to endure a week, and then I will try again and re-evaluate. Even after I return (whether after a week or longer), I will have to be a bit more moderate, at least for a while.  I don't like this idea either, because in my brain moderation==half assing things. I'll have to tackle that when I get to that point, though, because right now I have what looks like an insurmountable week to get through.


When I started this fitness journey a little over two years ago, I never, ever would have anticipated anything like this occurring in my life.  Had someone told me this would happen, I would have laughed aloud, but here I am. Funny after all these years that my own brain manages to shock and surprise me.

These pictures are from the last catnip party.