Finding my Mojo

Motivated by my lack of mojo last week, motivated by the drive to keep my kids occupied and cooled off during the summer, motivated by my need to make a positive change....I have done the unthinkable. I have joined a gym. A gym with a pool, but a gym nonetheless.

I know. I was just here at Curvy Girl not too long ago spouting anti-gym sentiment. And I meant it. If going to a gym is rote torture, which I suspect it is for many people, then it's time to switch things up.

But for me, right now, joining the gym IS switching it up.

I am no stranger to gym culture. In the past 8 years, I have belonged to every single gym within a 10 mile radius. Each winter, for just the coldest months of the year, I like to join a new and different one than the year before -- I am one of those rare creatures who likes change, who thrives on it.

(My husband, who abhors change of any kind, has grown accustomed over the course of our 13 year marriage to coming home from work only to find rooms re-arranged, painted in different colors, coffee mugs moved across the kitchen to a "more logical" cabinet, etc.)

Lately I have noticed that my kick-my-own-ass-spirit has gone missing. I have been cruising along on exercise auto-pilot, opting for pleasant active pursuits -- hiking with the kids, walking with friends, an occasional yoga class, a leisurely tennis match. And this is good. Great, even. But there is something missing.

As I write, it is late and I cannot sleep. I can't seem to shake the nagging sense of something I can't quite put my finger on, a distinct sense of impending imbalance, an unfortunate and unexplainable feeling of both isolation and overstimulation and the need to really journey through it or maybe against it instead of trying to roll along inside its undertow. And more than ever, I need the release.

I need to sweat, to lose my breath, to be so sore I wince everytime I sit down. I want to feel my body again, every painful muscle as it yells at me for what I did to it the day before. I want to be surrounded by sweaty people, searching for that optimum heartrate. I want to test my confidence and change in a lockeroom without shielding myself. I need to feel proud of myself, I need to feel strong.

I want something new.

And in 3 months, when I am ready for something new again, I will submit my resignation to the gym. I will don my sneakers and hit the open road, enjoy the crisp autumn air against my face. I will roll through crunchy leaves with my kids and shed that gym-rat skin, molting and renewing and reinventing what it means to be alive.

But right now, you know where to find me. Swimming laps and turbo-kicking it, scanning my keycard at the door.

 Reclaiming myself, one rep at a time, until I know where I am again. Then, and only then, I will soar.