I had Garrett measure me Monday. It had been a month. I about died when he gave me the results. 4.5 inches lost. To me, it was devastation. Complete devastation.
I came to workout and about a minute into the workout I lost it. Years flowing, sobs, weeping. I had hit a plateau. I wanted to go home. I wanted to put up my box and ball and go home.
I pushed through and finished dead last with a horrible time. Everyone was rooting for me, cheering me. I was sobbing. I cried for the next two days straight.
My mom tried to encourage me. My sister tried. Garrett tried and even sent me a bouquet of flowers telling me how proud he was of me. Each of them reminded me that my dad would be so completely proud of me. However, the one person I needed to hear from wasn't here. Couldn't tell me. Couldn't hug me. Couldn't give me the affirmation I so desperately needed.
And so on top of being discouraged I started to get angry and feeling robbed of my dad... A relationship I still very much need.
I realize this won't be an overnight thing. I will have highs and lows. And that's ok. This won't be the last time. By far. But I have to get up and go on. Pick up my ball and play again. It will get better. It will get easier.
And what do you know? Wednesday and Thursday were amazing workouts.
I will do this. I will.
