A while back I did a post about recovery days. Anyone who knows me knows I struggle with recovery days. In fact, until today, I have not had one in three weeks. Today, there was not an Orangetheory session that worked with my shift. I was set on going to the regular gym for a run until I finally tuned into the right hamstring that was sore from squats and the left hip where the hunk of titanium serves as a very reliable barometer during rainy weeks like this. I was sore. Time for a day off. I used to think that my fear of recovery days was based on the irrational belief I would take a day off and wake up the size 16 I started at. Despite my advanced medical degrees, somehow I believed this was a thing. Last night, however I was talking with a member of my team. As we swapped stories I began to realize my irrational fear of recovery days encompassed a whole other thing.
As a busy working mom of five, the last two decades have encompassed meeting my full time work obligations, managing a household, sports practices, groceries, endless loads of laundry, doctors appointments and the bazillion other things that occupy every minute of my day. That is until evening. I am a firm believer in early bedtime, 8:00 for young kids. Yes, the science behind them needing their rest and all of that....but more importantly my time. When I was home and off at night 8:00 became this magical moment. It was my time to shut it down. I became a professional unwinder. I had made myself a cocoon of sorts in the family room. I have a big leather couch with an electric blanket. I had a kitchenette in that room completely stocked with snacks and a 65 inch TV. Yep. cocooned in and winding down. Night after night. Snack after snack. Mindless TV show after mindless TV show. Yes ma'am. I was living the unwinding dream. Over time I would find out a few things. This cocoon had a problem. The snacks may have brought me momentary comfort....but they made me fat. The comfy couch was great, but I was alone there. So what was this really? It was hiding. I locked myself away in a sea of stupid TV and snacks which offered me exactly nothing but perhaps the sluggishness that follows the large ingestion of carb laiden snacks I mistook for comfort.. I was not unwinding or chilling. I was isolated and miserable.
When I committed to my health journey it was hard at first. The shell of that cocoon was hard to break free of. Hiding in that space sure seemed easier than burpees. I decided early on for every little tiny thing I achieved I would reward myself with something that required being out of the house and did not involve food. Therefore I now have a nail tech named Mary who is more like a close girlfriend who knows more about me than most people. Not to mention I now have a healthy appreciation for a badass mani. I suppose the same could be said for my hairdresser who has a flare for the creative and is magical with color. Little nonfood rewards, one step at a time. As I lost the fat, I lost that terrible cocoon that imprisoned me for decades and am finally starting to become that butterfly that was hiding inside. I felt pretty strongly about this notion a while back and even got a butterfly tattoo. This was my outward way of reminding myself that butterflies do not go back into the cocoon. In fact, I do not own the blanket anymore. It has gone the way of the fat clothes as it provides only a painful reminder of nights without purpose and a life half lived.
Putting all of this in perspective yesterday listening to my team member it dawned on me. I may have been equating rest not only with losing gains but with a retreat into that cocoon prison I once held so dear. Probably yet another irrational fear like waking up fat. Nonetheless, this rest day will be over soon and the butterfly tattoo is still firmly inked on my left ankle (yah, it's super cool) and I realize any retreat or loss of gains is a choice not a destination from a well earned rest day. So tomorrow at 10:00 am this badass butterfly chooses to fly Orangetheory style.
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