My first outdoor boot camp was a shit show.
I think I had been doing a boot camp class for a few weeks already before it went outside. To be honest, the details are little foggy. (We’re talking 11 years ago now, and I’m 43, so I pretty much don’t remember anything in full anymore unless it was yesterday.) I don’t recall what class was like except for one thing:
We had to run.
And I could not.
Running was always an issue for me. As a kid, I was resistant to most physical activity unless it was disguised as playing, so I didn’t play organized sports. I sometimes played driveway hockey, but we had a short driveway. And I sometimes played street football, but we lived in the city, and there were kids bigger and better than me to catch touchdowns.
So I never ran.
After I quit smoking in 2005, I started working out at home. I had cardio DVDs, pilates DVDs, and yoga DVDs. I did them religiously four or five times a week. One summer, when my husband was in the yard mowing the grass, I decided I was going to start jogging. I don’t remember how far I got (again, 43). I’m sure I only made it around the block. I do remember, however, that I got home, went straight to the backyard, and told my husband it was awful. I didn’t know how to breathe. I got side stitches. And I didn’t try running again.
Until boot camp.
We had to run around the plaza. I swear it was a full mile around. I didn’t make it even a third of the way without having to resort to walking instead. At later boot camps, which were eventually held at a track, I couldn’t do a full lap. I got side stitches when I tried to force myself to be faster. Add running stairs to the mix, which we often did, and I was always one of the last people in class to finish.
I decided I needed to be better. I had no plan for how to do this. I just decided to get better at running.
Over time, that decision turned into a weekly treadmill workout. Every Sunday morning, I went to the gym, early, so I could get a preferred treadmill. I did cardio on other days, too, but Sundays were always about running.
I did every Sunday treadmill session the same way—four minutes of slow jogging, followed by intervals of faster running mixed with slow jogging. Fast for one minute, then slow for a minute or two. I eventually got to a point where my slow intervals only needed to be one minute, and I started progressing my speeds. The fast intervals started creeping up to 7mph and higher. The slow intervals starting creeping up toward 6mph. I was finally running, without feeling like I was going to die, and without side stitches.
I had no goal other than to get better, so I just did more each time. Faster top speeds. Longer total times. More distance covered in less time.
Until one day, I reached 6 miles in less than an hour.
This was huge. HUGE. I felt like I accomplished something, something I never imagined myself doing.
It was one of my first real fitness achievements, and I remember the day I knew I was going to get that sixth mile in under an hour. I knew the whole week that it was coming, and I couldn’t wait until Sunday to get that workout started.
It was an entirely personal accomplishment. There was no one pushing me to this, no medal at the end, but I was proud.
I thought of that day, fondly, a few Sundays ago when I was running. Shortly after that, Facebook reminded me of that day in my memories, which you see here. I was shocked.
It took me a year to get to those six miles.
An entire year.
The thing is, I didn’t realize how long it had taken. I hadn’t gone into the process with the idea that I had to accomplish X or Y by Z date. I had simply decided, in April of 2009, that my fitness needed to be a priority. I started strength training, I started doing boot camp, and as part of an overarching goal to be fitter, I decided to start running that June.
Despite having hit that first personal goal, I didn’t stop. It’s now 10 years later, and I am still trying, every day, to be better fitter than I was the day, the week, the month, and the year before today.
Fitness doesn’t have an expiration date.
If we want to reap benefits from being fit for our entire lives, then we have to be fit for our entire lives.
I know many people have set fitness aside during this pandemic. I know this was not a purposeful decision for some people; it simply seemed to happen, and the prospect of starting again is overwhelming. I know other people really tried to stay dedicated but have since fallen back, for a variety of reasons, and are tenuous about how to move forward.
I say just start.
Pick a thing you can care about. Something you can get behind, something that makes you want to be better and work harder whenever you do it. It doesn’t need to be running. It could be five minutes of squats and push ups. It could be a fifteen minute dumbbell workout on your patio. It could be a conditioning workout from our private client group. It could be a commitment to improve your nutrition.
Just pick it. And then start.
Fitness is about a commitment over the course of your entire life. This pandemic is, by comparison, a four-month blip. It’s an aberration, not what will define you.
You get an entire lifetime to define yourself.
But you have to start.
About the author
Kristen Perillo
Kristen Perillo is a teacher by day, trainer and nutrition coach by night. She's also a Star Wars nerd, writer, dog (and cat) mom, peanut butter junkie, and Seinfeld devotee. Fitness has done nothing but make her life better, and she is privileged to show other people that it will do the same for them.
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