Muscle

Last spring I went for an extensive check-up. Like most of my adult life, I knew I had some pounds to lose. The doctor gave me a clear directive: lose weight, build flexibility, and get off my blood pressure and cholesterol medications. I had real motivation. I had reasonable goals. I had a plan.

I rode the stationary bike. I took the stairs instead of the elevator. I felt slimmer. I tried three or four different apps to guide my stretching. I felt pretty good. The progress was rewarded when I was taken off the blood pressure medication.

I was a little hit-and-miss with stretching, but directionally, it felt like it was going okay. I skirted a bit on the bike, but not too much. The extra exercise “earned” some extra desserts. I swapped a few salads for sandwiches. All of a sudden it had been eleven months. I knew the doctor’s visit was coming up. After a trip to the scale, I knew I needed to drop a little to ensure the doc saw my progress.

I hit the scale first. I checked the app. I was up quite a bit. That’s okay.

I had been exercising a lot. I was sure I’d put on a fair amount of muscle.

Nope.

Of the nearly 20 lbs, only 3 were muscle growth. It was crushing. How could this be? Sure, I hadn’t been perfect, but I tried. Well, mostly I tried.

As I went through my exercise logs, I found I hadn’t worked out nearly as much as it felt like. I knew my diet was off, but I thought the extra exercise would overcome it. Except I hadn’t been exercising that much.

Sometimes I really want something. I set a high bar. I set high expectations, and it kind of fizzles from there. I either never start or I drop off too soon.

I was so disappointed I didn’t meet my goal, but of course I didn’t. I didn’t even work towards it.

Am I hoping for something I am not working for? Do my expectations match the level of effort I am giving? What have I claimed as “close enough” but really isn’t?

Be curious, be kind, be whole, do good things.