Owning My Anxiety

The Carpenters had it right, rainy days and Mondays get me down too.

Today was challenging at the gym. No, not because I had a killer routine, or pushed myself to the brink. My challenge was much more internal than any of that.

The day started as any other Monday. In fact, I was actually excited to get the gym today and get back on the C25k program. Sadly, that didn't happen. I barely did anything resembling a work out at all.

A little background story on me and on my gym. My gym has a separate women's section that contains a weight circuit and two treadmills. My friend and I try to use these treadmills whenever we can, because honestly, the ones in the main room with the hardcore runners intimidate me. I'm not going to get into the intimidation factors for the "fat girls" amongst the skinnies at the gym, just know, you guys freak me out. I mean that in the nicest way possible. But until I am one of you, I would much rather hide on the treadmill in the corner so if I fall off, hopefully you won't even notice me. Or my bright red face dripping with sweat as I struggle to jog for 3 minutes.

The other side of this story is a battle I've had most of my life. The fight-or-flight. I would love to tell you that I am a fighter, but most of my life, I've run clear the opposite direction. Which is how I found myself struggling at the gym today. The two treadmills in the back are occupied. Oh, no. But! I'm having a good day today, I'm getting comfortable in the gym, so I walk into the main room instead and hop on a treadmill I've used before. It's not working. My breathing speeds up. I take a quick peek around the room, no one seems to notice me. I glance at the rest of the treadmills in the row. Not too many groups of two together for my friend and I, an Out of Order sign on one. With my options dwindling, I feel it. The panic setting in my chest, the heat in my face and hands. I grab my  stuff and walk quickly to my locker where I contemplate grabbing my stuff and running out the door.

At that moment, my friend walks through the door and spots me. Great, there goes my clean get-away. Flash forward, she talks me down. We do some weights instead. I focus on my machine and my friend's stories, half-heartedly. I give up ten minutes in and just follow her around like the lost puppy I am in that moment.

I try to shrug it off, but I can't help feeling like a failure. I walk to my car and notice the pouring rain. Perfect. The rain mixed with my tears and I slipped away quietly to my empty house with no one the wiser.

I would love to end this with the moral, with my lesson learned and my redemption. There isn't one, however. Not now. This is me, messy as I am. Owning my anxiety.