I Wasn't Ready For That...

 

Tonight marked my return to the gym for the first time in over a year. 

March 10, 2020 was my last logged workout. On March 11, 2020, I watched with the world as craziness unfolded in the sporting world and...Tom Hanks. This pandemic was, evidently, the real deal. On March 12, after clearing out my desk for the critical items I'd need for "2 weeks at home", I ducked into Dick's Sporting Goods and picked up a kettle bell and a couple dumbbells. A couple-week shutdown wasn't going to stop me from maintaining my fitness.

I wasn't ready for that quarantine. Two weeks turned into a year plus.  A year plus of curbside pickups, Amazon grocery delivery and virtual school and work. That's not to say we didn't get out and about. We did...but did so by purchasing an RV whereby we could tote around our own potty and beds while able to enjoy nature, biking, hiking and paddle boarding. It turned out to be a good decision, that RV purchase...but I would have traded many things to have gone on about our lives as we'd planned instead of tooling around in a condo on wheels. 

The RV did provide a unique opportunity to occasionally socially distance ourselves and still be...social. Those were great moments! For people that usually had a packed social calendar, the reclusiveness of 2020 highlighted our clear need for connection. One weekend in August, when my Dad was in Virginia, helping my sister's family, we coordinated an afternoon visit with he and my sisters at a State Park where we were situated for a few days. We sat outside in the heat that is delivered on a typical Virginia August day. We had some refreshments, but mainly, we just talked. All day. It was a rare visit - no major "thing" - holiday, birthday, ceremony or even a sporting event running on TV to interrupt our little circle of camp chair conversation. 

I wasn't ready for that to be my last visit with Dad. But it was. We were being so careful. so careful that day. In fact, our year of reclusivity (*made up word!) was all about my parents and my father-in-law's health. God forbid any of them became inflicted with Covid or any medical issue, we wanted to insure we would be healthy and able to help care for them.  But as he was leaving that afternoon, a force willed me into an embrace. I took a deep breath and with my masked face, flew into his chest and hugged him tight. Mercifully, he hugged me back with his gifted ability to epically hug and it was like coming home. 

I wasn't ready for that to be my last hug from Dad.  The holidays came and nearly went before I learned about Dad having been diagnosed and hospitalized with Covid. I'm sure it goes without saying: 

I wasn't ready for that news. 

The following 8 day period proceeded at an alarmingly fast clip. Each day arrived with new and concerning developments. One day, I was afforded a FaceTime session with Dad, aided by the on duty ICU nurse. The content and messaging I delivered was themed around encouraging him to fight. He was so tired. He was in pain. He was frustrated. He just wanted to be well and go home. 

I wasn't ready for that to be my last conversation with Dad. If I'd known those cherished moments would be my last, I would have had a different conversation - one that assured him he'd been an amazing, accomplished Father and Grandfather, "Pop". That no matter what idiotic thing I'd done, I knew he always and unconditionally loved and supported me. That he instilled in me a moral compass that might sometimes get a little kink, but always sorts out and points North, in the end. That I'm the person: the wife, mother, friend, sibling, leader, I am because he was my model, my spirit to emulate. And, of course, that I am proud and profoundly grateful to be the Daughter of Dale Richard Saunders (9/25/41 - 1/5/21).

The following 8 day period moved in an odd state of being. If it were a physical property, it would be a gelatinous goo - something you can move through and push around, but slowly and inefficiently. His funeral on January 13th was beautiful. It was a tribute to a man that was clearly loved by his family and community. It was a funeral that Dad himself would have talked about to one of his kids. I was grateful for the ritual that it was...but... 

I wasn't ready for that be the day I realized I was a fatherless child. 

I've been riding through these past few months on waves of emotion. Writing has helped and I joined an online grief community. Chris and Laura are, of course, amazing tonics - but they have their own grief to tend to. Friends and colleagues, past and present have been tremendous support and I'm reminded about the love that envelopes me on a daily basis, even if it is virtual. 

But my everlasting gobstopper of a goal these last few months has been: get back to the gym. It seems a trivial benchmark, all things considered. But in my mind, grief would be much easier to tend to if I could just throw around a barbell or get through a cardio-intense workout that makes me want to vomit, I would start to feel "normal" sooner. To get back to my gym, I required a vaccine. This was a self-imposed rule, but one that for many reasons, felt prudent and necessary. Well, that day arrived. April 1, 2021 marked exactly 2 weeks following my second Moderna vaccine and so it was back to the gym, today. 

I wasn't ready to return to the gym today. Wow. I am simply not in the physical condition that is required for the intensity of workout that was waiting for me when I walked through those doors. It needed to be done, though. I needed to get through this workout and get back on the proverbial saddle. Today's workout required a series of bench presses, during which, I was humbled. The second part of the workout was three rounds of a 400M run, 7 power cleans, 10 burpees, a brief respite, then 10 burpees, 7 power cleans and a 400M run. Rinse and repeat two more times. Ouch. My first round felt respectable, especially for my first day back. Round two was a different story. 

You see, in round two, Dad decided pop inside my head in my first 400M run. Why, Dad? Memories of my first marathon in 2010 came rushing back. I could hear my Dad's deep cheer willing me to finish crossing the Lee Bridge ~ 16 miles into my journey. And I could hear him screaming, along with an army of family members, but it was his voice that resonated as I approached the finish line. I remembered his hug when I finally located my family among throngs of spectators. That hug was captured in the photo I've included in this post today. 

Why, Dad? Why today? Why in this moment, did these memories come? I had to stop running. I had to catch my breathe. I walked a few beats while I brushed back tears and I thanked him for his support. I thanked him for willing me back into fitness and for his encouragement to tackle my self-care. Round two ended up pretty slow for me. The emotions of it all...Round three I snapped back to attention and got completed all but the final 400M run before half hour time limit ran out. 

No, I wasn't ready for that to be my return to the gym. But I did it. I got through it and I will suffer the consequences of my inactivity these last few months for days to come. Strength will come in time...it always does, at least physically. I hope the same is true for emotional strength. Only time and, my yet to live, experience will confirm, though.