What Exercise Taught Me About Dealing With Friction in Other Areas of Life
During one of my recent workouts, I found myself staying in a plank position for a few seconds longer than I thought my body was capable of. I was approaching the end of an ab routine and the clock on the corner of the workout video was ticking down from 30 seconds: 29, 28, 27… At 16 seconds, I was ready to quit. My mind was telling me: “OK, Riikka, this is enough! I can’t go on for any longer!”. But instead of listening to the voice, I wondered what would happen if I resisted the urge to let my knees sink to the mat. And there I was staying in the plank until the familiar four beeps signified the end of the exercise. I can’t say it felt good. Instead, I felt triumphant. I had made it.
This brief moment during my workout made me wonder why is it feels quite natural for me to continue an exercise although my mind is trying to convince me otherwise. To not put my knees down at the first sign of my muscles tiring or to sprint the last few hundred meters after a 45-minute run. I could even say I enjoy testing the limits of my body and waiting to see what happens if I don’t quit just yet.
But more importantly, I began to wonder why it often feels so difficult to continue despite the resistance in other areas of life. Perhaps my attitude towards exercise could teach me something about facing friction.
The most obvious reason for why I can stand the strain and pain of physical exercise is because I can and have experienced the difference it can make. I know it allows me to keep away the back pain from the extensive sitting during workdays and to focus on expressing myself at a dance class instead of gasping for air. I have experienced becoming stronger and more resilient exercise by exercise: the same HIIT session that only four weeks ago required me to take several breaks to catch my breath now feels almost enjoyable. Any longer breaks from exercise have also reminded me that it is a lot easier to keep a routine than start a new one.
Over the years of moving my body in various different ways from aesthetic group gymnastics to volleyball, reggaeton and swimming, I have also learnt that the benefits of exercise stretch beyond the physical body. Moving my limbs can make me feel both rejuvenated and relaxed, it improves sleep and makes me feel more confident. Many times, it also offers a community to belong to.
I believe that all of the aforementioned benefits have led me to view the pain that comes with exercise differently. I can imagine a sensitive child becoming scared of her wildly thumping heart and shortness of breath after jumping rope for the first time. A kind parent would then soothe the child by telling her that everything is fine: this is your body working as it is supposed to and helping you use it for any fun activities you wish to engage in.
What the child would learn, and what I believe I have learnt, is to not label the body’s responses as either positive or negative. They are simply a part of the experience of moving our body when we are having fun or when we want to become stronger.
Lately, I have been thinking a lot about the situations in which I still tend to unconsciously label my thoughts and feelings as either positive or negative. Too often have I quit a new craft project, because my hands don’t move as effortlessly as in the tutorial videos. Too often have I moved the “explore podcast equipment” task onto the following week’s to do list, because I think I would be overwhelmed by all the technicalities related to sound recording. Too often have I quit halfway of writing a text because the voice inside of me tells me it’s not worth sharing.
So, why do I not continue despite the inner voice telling me the opposite? Sometimes, I feel a sense of entitlement to be able to do things without friction. I think it is founded on the idea that if I experience any form of resistance, I must be on the wrong path, that it‘s not “meant to be”. Or I wholeheartedly believe that my thoughts and feelings are the truth: I’m not capable of whatever it is that I’m doing and will never improve.
However, without staying at an activity or new hobby for a little longer than would feel comfortable, I will never find out whether it could turn into something fruitful or whether my skills would in fact begin to improve. It is as if I cannot imagine the stronger body or the joy of being able to move as effortlessly as my dance teacher.
Observing myself while remaining in the plank position longer than I thought my body was capable of made me wonder why other aspects in life should be any different from exercise. Why should I be able to pursue meaningful goals without friction in work, hobbies or even relationships? What if I learnt to observe my thoughts and feelings and to create space between experiencing a thought or an emotion and labeling it as truth? Perhaps I would notice that they are simply a part of the process.
