Day 36: Of Planks, Perseverance & Perplexedness

The timer starts and the quivering begins immediately. My shoulders scoff at the notion of holding me upright for 40 seconds once, let alone 4 times. My hip flexers are still cramping from the bicycles, and I want to break the post just to stretch them. I glance up at the timer, feeling like I've been here for so long already... at it's been just 12 seconds.

At 20 seconds, I collapse, shoulders twitching from the attempt. I scramble to get my forearms back under me and my toes positioned and lift my body back up. It takes me nearly 10 seconds to get back into the pose, and I marvel at how long 10 seconds is when I'm holding plank and how short it is when I'm trying to get back into it.

This time it's just 12 seconds before I collapse again, frustrated, mad, and dripping with sweat. I push back up into the pose and finish out my 8 remaining seconds.

1 DOWN. 3 TO GO.

As I rest between planks, I try to get my mind right. I see myself holding plank, strong, unwavering, stable. I take a few deep breaths to refill my lungs and notice that my rest time is up. I get back into plank as the timer starts again, and my shoulders promptly give out under me.

I start to cry.

I push back up into the pose, tears running silently and joining the pool of sweat under me as I fight to hold the plank pose I'd envisioned when I was resting. 22 seconds in, I'm down again, and it's really hard to get back up. My breathing is ragged, my shoulders ache and I can't tell which droplets are from me crying and which ones are from me sweating. It doesn't really matter.

Back up, for just 10 seconds, and I'm down again. Back up, for another 8 seconds... and I can rest.

2 DOWN. 2 TO GO.

This isn't fair, I think, as I stretch back into child's pose and take a deep breath. I'm working so hard, and I'm giving all I got, and I'm not getting strong enough quickly enough.

A couple more deep breaths, and the timer tells me rest time's up and it's time to plank up again. I close my eyes and try to ignore the burning in my shoulders. Isn't this supposed to be a torso exercise? Why do I never feel the exercises in the right spot?

Shaking, I open my eyes and peek at the timer. 18 seconds. I close my eyes again, determined to make it past 20 seconds. I try not to count but there's a sharp pain in my left collarbone and my shoulders are quaking like jello and--WHUMP.

I'm down. 22 seconds.

I stay down for a few seconds this time, trying to catch my breath. I try to breathe normally when I'm in plank, but I can't get decent breaths through the exertion. I get my breath back enough, and I push up again.

Eyes closed. That worked okay last time. I realize I'm still crying. This pisses me off. The timer beeps and I collapse.

3 DOWN. 1 TO GO.

I roll over onto my back and massage my left collarbone area. I can't believe there's still 1 more of these planks left. I can't believe how fast the rest break goes.

Back into position. Last plank of the day... finally. Eyes closed again. Trying to use my own frustration as fodder to keep me upright longer. I fall down at 10 seconds. So much for getting a boost from my frustration.

I push back up and wonder why I'm doing this to myself. One of the emails this week noted that we've probably seen fat come off our butt, arms, and face... I haven't. I want to. I want to as much as I want that damn timer to beep and let me rest. I want to so badly that I keep pushing back up into this plank pose even though it's shaky and I'm crying and I'm frustrated.

Down again. 12 seconds. ^$(#&#!

Pushing back up is really hard. My shoulders are just spent. I curse my body for being the size it is, and for not dropping any weight or fat or altering in any noticeable way.

7 seconds. My body is rebelling against being cursed at, I think.

Back into plank. I. Will. Not. Drop. I stare down the timer, willing it to speed through these last 11 seconds. It doesn't... but I stay up.

4 DOWN.

I hit the floor and let out a frustrated scream/growl utterance. Too fat, too weak, too invested in the results I want to see, too distraught by the fact none are showing.

I lay on the floor and cry until my breath stops coming in ragged spurts and my shoulders stop burning. I know I'll be back on this mat tomorrow... every stupid, unbudging fat cell and every last unaltering inch of me.

But for now, it's time to reward myself with some time on the eliptical trainer followed by stretching, when I can forget that I look the way I do and that my pants don't fit any differently than they did a couple of months ago.

. . .

Two years ago, after seeking medical assistance for my apparent inability to drop weight, my doctor stared at my medical chart in his hands, and chuckled. "On paper," he said, "you're an athlete. Blood pressure, lung function, oxygen processing, pulse recovery..." he trailed off. "On paper, you're what we want to see in a person. Your body just doesn't match."

Two years later, after having taken a year away from my pursuit of fitness out of frustration with my unchanging body size, his words echo in my sweat-drenched head. Maybe I'm not on my way to being more slender and lean, I think. Maybe I'm just on my way to being a perplexingly fit fat person again.

But here on my mat, sweating and muscle-fatigued, that's not much comfort. And I don't even know anymore if it should be.