Training in Slow Motion
Like the background music of a movie, which draws you in and changes your energy, there is the soft tick, tick, ticking of a clock in my mind. As I have gotten older, my perception of time has shifted most severely. St. Augustine is famously quoted as having said something to the effect of, "I know what time is until you ask me for a definition about it, and then I can't give it to you." Time is a man-made construct developed to define the passing of current reality. One might say we can never go into the past, but we can go into the future. Physicist, Sean Carroll, states in Wired magazine, (2/26/2010), "Yeah, no. You can easily go into the future, that's not a problem. Yesterday, I went into the future and here I am!"
I think a lot about time. My husband likes to play these 'time games' with me. He very much enjoys pointing out little time comparisons that offer perspective on, basically, how old we are. His latest, "Do you realize that we are the age now that your parents were, when we met?" I do not enjoy these games. Often, friends will ask about our children & how old they are now, or we will attend a graduation or wedding. Inevitably, someone makes the comment, "Enjoy it now, it goes fast!" or "Don't they grow up so fast?!" I always beg to differ with this commentary. It did not go fast. I felt every day of my children's' lives, every struggle in school, and every tear-filled heartache. I do not care for the 'time games' because sometimes I feel I am very much in every moment. My perspective on time is just this, it is fleeting.
This feeling that time is slipping away looms over me as I approach the second half of my life and sometimes I find myself rushing through stuff, like I am up against some master deadline. I often tell my daughter, 'take the time, do the baby steps, get it right the first time.' She gets that sense of urgency honest. Hurry up, get it done, move on! Sometimes, this spills over into the very things I enjoy the most. It is hard to slow down when you hear the ticking.
As my family grows older, my freedoms grow greater and I have learned to embrace doing the things that I love, just for me. One of my greatest joys in life is exercise. It is not only what keeps me physically healthy, but mentally. It took me a long time to understand how therapeutic exercise is. I am not a natural athlete. I tried out and was cut from every high school team and, let's just say, I wasn't picked first. It has taken me most of my adulthood to grow as an athlete and find my inner strength & confidence. I have studied yoga, martial arts, weight lifting, and a multitude of other physical fitness genres. When my father died, I felt lost. I had nowhere to go to work through it. I went to the track. I do not run. I hate running; it is excruciatingly painful to me. But, I was so lost that I needed to do something that brought me physical pain, to work through my heartache. I ran a lap, cried a lap, ran a lap, cried a lap. I did this over and over, until I could think again. Yes, exercise is therapeutic.
My fitness regimen these days consists of spin-style bike riding at home and weightlifting workouts in the gym. The bike riding gives me the hit of intense cardio thumping adrenaline exercise that I need to escape but the weightlifting is a different game entirely. It is a touchstone of sorts, one that I can measure improvement by. And here is where time comes into play. As my freedom has grown, I have found it can be difficult to make that mental shift from needing to quickly finish the day to get home to the family to one of, 'this is time that exists solely for me'. As a Gen-X child, I am not good at giving myself that gift of time. Somewhere, deeply embedded in me is that ethic, "wake up, work hard, get home, take care of everyone, get to bed... rinse and repeat."
But what would happen if we slowed down during that time we have given ourselves? What would happen if during a strength training workout, I slowed down and physically lifted slowly? What would happen if I did not bang away at it and I actually felt the movement and connected, mentally, with my body?
What would happen if I allowed myself the time and space I deserve?
Recently, I have begun to try to lift slowly. I admit, I have to force myself. At first, it felt weird and awkward. I felt like I did not belong in the gym if I wasn't going to blow through reps and sets. Honestly, I felt like I looked stupid. And then something happened. My eyes naturally closed. I breathed deeper. An image presented itself in my mind of the engaged muscle. As I slowly lifted, curled, extended, flexed, etc. I began to feel grounded and stable. I was actually IN the moment, connecting with my body and feeling its strength. Deep breathing created a euphoric sensation in my mind and every movement mattered more. It was a bizarre and wonderful feeling. In that moment, I could feel time.
The concept of slow strength training is a topic of much debate in regard to its efficacy and/or superiority to 'regular' strength training. I make no such determination here. I offer only this, the time you have set aside to engage in a fitness routine is time you have given yourself. The time you have set aside to read a book is time you have given yourself. The time you have set aside to wash your face and prepare for bed is time you have given yourself. What would happen if we stopped running for the finish line and paused in these moments to acknowledge this IS the time I have been given? What would happen if we breathed a little deeper and fully exhaled? I challenge you as you go through your day.
Stop.
Take a look around.
Feel it.
Be in the moment. The true meaning is in your vessel's journey.
Comments