I’ve treated my body like shit.
Lately, however, I’ve committed to being kinder to my frame in its totality, be it relishing in the stillness of a peaceful morning or guzzling soul-warming green tea (with honey!) on the regular.
Exploring the intricacies of your happiness will keep your mental and physical health lit. But even though exercise is another great way to show yourself love, allow me to be frank, will you?
I fuckin’ hate it. (Can you tell?)
I mean, I sweat out my hair, every fiber of my being aches and no matter what I eat, I feel like upchucking everything afterwards.
Don’t get me wrong, I will work out.
I’m a Marvel heroine post-kickass cardio session (basically but I’d much rather remix my diet than spend two hours taking my body to task. I sweat out of necessity, not because it tops the list of my wish list necessarily.
Earlier this year, I played with the idea of purposeful, consistent exercise. For about three months, I’d spend 60 to 90 minutes a day fitting in some sort of cardio, which always ended up being a mix of running, walking and jogging.
I probably spent more time Snapchatting, reflecting or crying to my BFF on the phone than actually torching calories, but the constant movement allowed me to bury myself in my thoughts. It was the only time I was able to disconnect, or be connected to something bigger than myself (#moreonthislater).
Others may chalk up my unwillingness to happily train as laziness or a lack of mental toughness. Though I highly doubt I’ll ever be a gym junkie or an iron-pumping addict, I don’t mind dragging myself to get it done.
Nowadays, my workouts aren’t nearly as steady anymore, but I do make it a point to inject 30 minutes of activity into my schedule, no matter how hectic. But don’t assume that for the sake of her sweat. I actually love the burn. ‘Cause I don’t.
Not even DJ Khaled’s inspirational snaps can make me gleefully skip to the gym every morning.