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I’m usually pretty good about doing things I don’t want to do. I’ve been alive long enough to know that getting started is always the hardest part. But nothing is harder for me to start than doing weights.

I say “doing” weights because I don’t actually lift anything other than myself. I started out with push-ups because a friend suggested a “100-push-up challenge.” I had never done any upper-body exercise of any kind. I couldn’t imagine I could do 100 push-ups – and it turns out I was right. I couldn’t for almost two years.

But I did them almost every day, and I went from 30 to 50 (where I stayed for a full year) to 75, and, finally, to 100. Then I discovered I could do 110 and, by the end, I was able to do 200 push-ups at a time.

Was my form perfect? It was not. I couldn’t care less. I did them fast and sloppy and got them over with. But my arms got a lot stronger, and I hoped my genetic inclination toward osteoporosis might be helped. I did them because I thought a me in the future would appreciate my efforts.

But I finally got to a point where I absolutely dreaded push-ups. I stopped doing them for days at a time. It takes a while to do 200 push-ups, and I hated every moment of it.

So, I decided to do something different. There is a small gym in the building where I live, and it has machines in it. I’d never used any of these machines. They terrified me. But my 16-year-old nephew, Beau, started lifting weights two years ago. He is very muscular now and goes to the gym several times a week. Beau came to my gym with me, and we looked at the terrifying machines.

“What do I do, Beau?”

“All you need is this machine,” he said, pointing to the scariest one. He sounded sure of himself, and Beau is a fellow who does a lot of research before he comes out with pronouncements.

“Just this machine?”

“Yup. If you want to work upper body, this will do it.”

Beau showed me three exercises I could do on the one machine, and I became determined to use this machine every day. And I did. For a while. Then I began to hate it almost as much as push-ups.

I had to get dressed to go to the gym (even if it was just downstairs). I had to put on my shoes (and we all know how hard that can be). Sometimes I had to do my exercises in front of other people. (They were not the least bit interested, but still.)

And I started avoiding it, just as I had the push-ups.

“Maybe I don’t have to do weights at all,” I told myself. “Maybe I’ve done enough!” But I didn’t feel good. And I knew Future Me would be disappointed in Past Me.

So, I’ve started up again.

I’m not pretending I love doing weights, but I’m not complaining as much, either. Because even if I only do one short set, I feel better afterward. I feel stronger and more confident – but not really because my arms are stronger. I feel stronger when I do something I truly detest, even for a short time, because I decided to do it and did it. I did something just because it was the right thing to do.

I remind myself that I’m doing a favor for Future Me. I sure hope she appreciates it.

Till next time,

Carrie