On Day 33, I hit the first wall.
Day 40, I ran 10 minutes straight.
On Day 56, I counted a drunken walk downtown after Brewer’s Jam.
Day 64, I ran 20 minutes.
On Day 66, I stopped running.
Day 82, I bought a new yoga mat.
On Day 90, I almost quit.
Day 100, I finished.
I finished. 100 Days of Fitness. Done.
Nobody thought I would. Not even me. But I did.
No, it wasn’t easy. No, I didn’t push myself every day (or even most days). No, I didn’t set any records. No, I didn’t drastically transform my body. And no, I really didn’t lose any weight. (Though both Jimmie and I can see a difference in how I look.)
I did 2,351 minutes (39.18 hours), 41.88 miles, and 61 yoga practices.
I lost 4.2 pounds, and 5 inches.
I gained a habit, a love of yoga, and a belief in myself. I gained confidence, and a sense of peace I never knew I was missing. I feel stronger, longer, and tighter. I feel slower and looser. I feel proud, and yes, I feel humbled.
3 months ago, I couldn’t run a mile, and I couldn’t do Pigeon pose. Today, though I won’t win any awards for either, I can do both.
I can feel my body, feel when things are working and feel when things are off. When I’m holding myself at an odd angle, or I’m walking funny. When one leg is longer than the other (confirmed by my chiropractor), and when my posture is slipping. When what I’ve eaten was for nourishment, and when for taste. When my stress levels and blood pressure are rising. When I’m holding my breath.
I love the feeling of accomplishment I get from knowing that no matter what, no matter how easy or how hard my workout is, I’ve done something. EVERY DAY. For 100 days. On business trips and camping trips, while sick, while healthy, and yes, while slightly intoxicated. While happy, while sad, and while angry. I’ve done something.