Hi, Friend.
I could not hear what he was saying because of my own sobbing.Finally, I slow down my breath to make it out:
“Ok, ok. Stop crying. You are ok. Where are you?”.
“At the gymmm!”, I wail quietly, trying not to attract too much attention.
“Ok, that’s good, so you are not driving.
”I dragged my sorry ass out of my chair, drove for thirty minutes in the grey nastiness that has the audacity to call itself winter in Ontario, and now I am sitting on a random bench inside LA Fitness. Even the name of the gym chain is infuriating. Freaking LA!
“I don’t feel like doing anythiiiiiiing………..”.
“Where in the gym are you?”
He talks me though it, slowly. The conversation probably sounds ridiculous to an outsider. Heck, it sounds ridiculous to me.
“The change room.”
I stare at the rows of lockers, and wonder if I can fit inside one of them and close the door.
“All right. Are you changed?”
“Sort of”, I whimper. “I am still wearing the outside shoes, and a sweater”. “
Good. Do you have gym shoes with you? So, let’s put those on now. Ok? Put the phone down for a minute”.
I put down the phone beside me, and start fumbling with shoes, feeling like a two year old.But with a cell phone. And a bad case of winter blues.
“Ok. Shoes are on”.
“Good!”
He sounds so proud of me, I want to throw up a little.
“Now, the sweater! Do you want to keep it on?”
“Yes. I am cold”, I whine.
“Keep it on then. What will you do at the gym today?”.
“I don’t know”.
“How about the warm-up? What would you usually do for warm-up?”
“Um. A five minute run on a treadmill, maybe”, I offer weakly. “And then, I would do some mobility exercises”.
I perk up ever so slightly.
“See? You already have a plan. Go do that, and then call me after if you need to. Deal?”
“Deal”.
I almost never call back.
The hardest part is to start.
Actually, no.
The hardest part is to reach out for help.
To decide that I will pick up the phone and admit to someone that I am struggling and could use some hand holding, instead of deciding (as I have so many times before) that I really SHOULD be able to figure this out on my own, and then… trying to do just that, failing and driving straight home. Or.. never making it out of the house in the first place.
But, wait… that might not be THE hardest part either.
The hardest part comes right before reaching out for help.
It’s the part where we DECIDE that we are ready for help. That we are READY to get some assistance, some space holding, some support.
If winter tends to SUCK for you, and you would love for it to SUCK LESS this year, then you might indeed be in that HARDEST moment.
Having to decide.
If you are one of my winter-loving friends - hang tight.
Hugs,
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