Self-Care and the Art of an Off Day

Right now, as I write this, I'm practicing self-care. It's a bit of therapy. Writing always has been. I started blogging more than a decade ago to vent about a crappy break up. Admittedly, it probably wasn't the best outlet for my anger and disillusionment given it did all go "public" but it got me to where I am today. Since then, I've stopped venting (for the most part), but writing is still therapy and I expect it always will be.

This is normally my morning workout time. Normally. Today, I'm writing instead. Not because these words seemed more important than an hour on my Spin bike, nor because I'm lazy and wanted to sleep in. Nope, I'm writing to maintain some semblance of sanity, to distract me from the thoughts that invariably haunt me on mornings such as these. You see, when I hopped out of bed shortly after just one snooze of my alarm clock, I made the command decision that I needed an off day. Not a "day off" (though I could definitely make a case for one of those also); an off day.

Definitions:

Day Off - a day I'm not schedule for work or skip work for some reason.

Off Day - a day I skip a workout.

I haven't had an off day in almost two weeks. In that time, I've run or indoor cycled for at least an hour a day at or near my anaerobic threshold (I use heart rate to determine the intensity of my workouts, running included for the summer). My body is tired and the tendinitis in my heel is flaring. Yesterday morning, it took a herculean effort to work my legs hard enough to get my heart rate up to where it needed to be. It was one of those rides that requires constant attentiveness to the HR monitor and incessant cattle prodding to push through the mental, physical, and spiritual fatigue. I made it through an hour, but instead of feeling energized like I usually do afterwards, I was drained and never quite found my stride all day. This morning when the alarm went off, I felt ok - I mean as good as I ever have when knocking on over-trained - but I knew I'd end up struggling through the workout. It would be an hour of misery and rather than improve my fitness, it would tear my body down even more. An off day - here's the important part of my rationalization - would do the opposite. My body could rejuvenate, heal, and become stronger.

Arguably, there's someone out there reading this thinking I'm a pussy because off days are for pussies (I know this - that's why I'm writing for self-care this morning). In my twenties, I did cardio twice a day every day for years. YEARS. I will argue, though, that those were merely "check the box" workouts. Meaning get on, do what you do, and get off. There was no purpose other than to burn the calories I thought I needed to burn and to maintain my sanity. Now, my workouts carry a greater purpose. Or so I say. "I'm training for a fall half marathon" is my favorite bit of reasoning these days. In fact, it might be why I decided to extend my half marathon season that used to run from early November through my birthday in March throughout the entire year. It gives me a reason (an excuse - I should probably call it what it is) for the constant pushing and training, for the 2AM wake-up calls, for the weeks without an off day.

I used to be good at skipping workouts. It wasn't all that long ago that I only worked out three times a week, maybe four on a good week. I've never been enamored of the gym and going took a good bit of cajoling. I'd do a quick, cursory hour and hit the road. Then I rediscovered Spinning. A dog-sitting client got a Peloton and agreed to let me use it when I stay that their house. After a couple weeks of daily workouts over Christmas break, I decided I couldn't go without so I pulled the drying laundry off my Spin bike and set up a small studio in my bedroom. I loved the intensity of the workouts and how I felt afterward. I no longer had to go to the gym; I could workout in the privacy of my own house and do something I actually like doing. 

And, according to my Garmin, it burns A LOT of calories. Now we're getting to the heart of the matter and why I'm writing for self-care this morning. Quick overview to get the uninitiated up to speed - In my late teens and early to mid twenties, I was anorexic. I exercised - running, biking, tennis - everyday for hours and hours and I monitored every calorie I consumed. Calories burned by far exceeded calories consumed. I'd lose weight, plateau (it's the body's self-protective mechanism to ensure survival), then increase the amount of exercise I did while decreasing the amount of food I ate. It was a vicious cycle that went on for far too long. It started out innocently enough - I wanted to shed the weight I'd gained my senior year of high school and freshman year of college - then it spiraled out of control. Finally, I knew something had to change. I stopped running, made a few friends, and little by little I returned to "normal". 

Keep in mind, though, much like an alcoholic, once an anorexic, always an anorexic. Right now, as I sit here writing, this is the line I am walking. I feel myself sliding back toward that downward spiral, a place where CONTROL reigns supreme. I can say it's about losing weight or training for half marathons, but in reality (a very harsh and ugly reality) it's about control. Plain and simple with no bells and whistles. CONTROL. For some reason, I desire/need/crave control and given that there are so many things in the world that defy control, historically, I've grabbed power over what I can - ME. I can determine how many calories I burn and how many I eat. I can create to-do lists and check boxes. I can cloak myself in my introversion and push the world, a world that refuses to be controlled, away. I can encase myself in a bubble and write and write and write. And, incidentally, run and ride and run and ride.

Of course, I know where I've ended up when I let go of that control. And I suppose that's what scares me. Also. Too. That's what scares me, too. Because right now, I'm straddling a fence. On one side, there's the control I feel I need to maintain to keep my sanity intact. On the other, there's the insanity of that results from too much control. I can't let myself slip an inch either way. I have to control my response to control. What?

Which is why I took an off day. And why I will continue with my usual Sunday routine. Sunday is my donut day, the one day a week I permit myself to have a donut (If I let myself eat them every day, I would. And you were skeptical that my entire life is about control?). Today is about self-care. Doing what I need to do for me. That starts by skipping a workout and relinquishing a bit of control, writing and taking a breath. Tomorrow is another day and after a bit of rest today, I should be come back stronger and have a great morning ride.

Well, I wrote myself over the hump. My sanity is intact (as intact as it ever is) and an apple fritter at Shipley Donuts awaits. Happy Sunday, everyone.