I clutched the gift card in my hand, reading and re-reading the words on the front, "To: Kristen, From: Mama and Daddy." My parents believed in me; why could I not believe in myself?
For Christmas, my parents got me a gift card to a local gym to use when I felt ready. Unfortunately, the day after Christmas I came down with a nasty GI bug that landed me in the ER twice and cost me over 5 pounds and much of the progress I had made in the previous months. Since then, I have worked tirelessly to regain the lost progress and then some. Today, I woke up decided that I would finally put my gift card to use and go to the gym. So I tied my hair back, tugged on my tennis shoes, and headed out.
As I pulled into a parking spot, I felt my excitement begin to transform, twisting inside of my stomach. A wave of "what-ifs" washed over me as I sat in my car; it was as if someone had sat a weight on my shoulders. My excitement to go to the gym had turned into fear plagued with self-doubt and uncertainty. "Maybe I am not ready yet," I thought to myself as I reached for my seatbelt, "maybe today just is not the day." But before I fastened my seatbelt back, I looked down at the gift card in my hand and suddenly a new wave of emotion washed over me. Less than a year and a half ago I was laying in a hospital bed, dying. My body was shutting down and the doctors were telling my parents that I was not going to make it. But there I was today, heathy, happy, and very much so ALIVE. Not only was I healthy, but I was healthy enough to be going to the gym- something that just a year and a half ago, I was not sure if I would ever get to do again.
Without another thought, I grabbed my gym items and made my way to the front doors. All it took was 20 seconds of insane courage.
Committing to going to the gym was something that I wanted to do for myself and for my health. I want to gain endurance, grow stronger, and feel healthier all around because for the first time in a very long time, I have the opportunity to grow stronger.
I have now been to the gym several times and absolutely love it so far. I work on my endurance while also targeting my legs, arms, and core with light weight exercises. The progress may be gradual, but the satisfaction of doing something for myself was instant. I stepped out of my comfort zone (far out of my comfort zone), took a risk, and the risk turned into a reward that will help me in my journey.
My illness has completely changed the way that I look at going to the gym. For many people, the gym is a place to tone and strengthen and surely seems like a burden at times. But for me, going to the gym is freedom. It symbolizes a major hurdle in my life that I am in the process of overcoming. It is a miracle because less than two years ago I was only 72 pounds, I had lost almost all of my muscles mass, and I could barely walk.
Less than two years ago I had to learn to walk again for the second time in my life.
Learning to walk again while recovering from surgery was one of the hardest periods in my life. There were times when I physically got "stuck" on the floor because I could not stand or when I would need help sitting up in bed. Simply walking down the hallway was the equivalent of a marathon for my body at that time and I often had to be assisted by my parents. In these moments, I never envisioned the day that I would step foot in a gym. How in the world would I rebuild my body up from almost nothing? I began with leg lifts in bed. 5 and then 10 and then 20, my leg lifts turned into laps back and forth down the hallway. 2 laps became 3 laps and 3 laps became 4 laps. Then I tackled the stairs. Halfway down and then back up. Then the treadmill. 1 minute, 2 minutes, 5 minutes, 10 minutes. Walking became running and running turned into biking. I worked through sore joints and swollen ankles. I worked through surgery pain and fatigue. Each and every single day I woke up and committed to strengthening my body, even if it was one muscle at a time.
But in between my little victories I experienced setbacks: 3 more surgeries, countless hospitalizations, IV nutrition, and more. Each setback chiseled into the progress that I had made, knocking me backwards. With every setback came the sting of defeat. But for each time that I was knocked down, I stood back up again (even if it was with the help of a chair). Every single time I faced a setback, my comeback was stronger than before.
And here I am today: walking, jogging, lifting, biking. Breathing. LIVING. And I am not going anywhere.