Nat has been writing about her strength training recently and I’m impressed by her enthusiasm. Because to my mind, if there’s one activity for which the word, “meh,” applies, it’s strength training. I don’t hate it, but I’d rather do just about anything else: swimming, running, biking, dancing, singing… But I am at that age when strength training becomes essential to the life I want to live in my third act. At the very least, I want to be able to swing a toddler to the rhythm of Beyoncé. But I also hope that retirement will afford me the chance to take up hiking, kayaking, and whatever ever else looks fun.
So, strength training. I have spent the last five years taking various stabs at it, after a bad knee injury took me out of running for a year during Covid times. I did the exercises my physio told me to do, most of the time. I tried various You Tube videos. When I started running again, I told myself I only needed to do 10-15 minutes after my runs, three times a week. I ended up doing ten minutes, sometimes, when I remembered.
In desperation, I joined the gym, hoping that the guilt of paying a monthly membership would prove an incentive. That worked, sort of, but I was still attaching the strength training to a run, so I would invariably cut short the weights workout so I could get to my run. Finally, I lowered the boom. I am not allowed to do ANYTHING other than strength training, twice a week, at the gym—and I must stay in the weight room for ONE HOUR. It doesn’t matter how light the weights are or how little effort I expend. I’m in that place for the hour and there’s no run or swim or bike added on as the real workout. The weights are the workout. The only workout.
Lately I’ve been reading More than Pretty Boxes, Carrie M. Lane’s fascinating glimpse into the world of professional organizers, and I’m reflecting on the wisdom of organizers, who, like coaches, recognize that the only systems that people will adopt, when they need to make changes in their lives, are the ones that work for them. What each of us needs to do, or think, in order to change our behaviors, varies wildly. My goal, as I list the changes that I hope to make in the years ahead (hello, green vegetables!), is to aim for consistency, rather than perfection. My friend Stephanie (who also happens to be a health coach) wisely noted, “60% consistency over a year is better than 100% consistency over a month.”
Who knows, maybe the new year will see me measuring my progress with the weights or trying a dead lift. For now, I’m keeping it simple, in the hopes that habit will fill in the blank space where enthusiasm usually lives.
