This week I went to the gym twice.

This may not seem monumental, but as someone who loathes the gym, formal exercise, and getting sweaty, it was a pretty big step.

I tried to go on Monday afternoon, with my toddler in tow. I mistakenly assumed that the rec center had childcare all day and, well, they didn’t. We left, and I felt utterly dejected. I binged that afternoon.

But Tuesday morning, I got up at 5am, was at the rec center by 5:30 when it opened, and worked out for 40 minutes.

And then, even crazier, I got up and did it again on Wednesday.

I know.

(I didn’t do it again today because we were busy having a snow-pocalypse, and the school district declared a snow day, so I figured it was best to stay off the roads at 5am.)

My therapist was elated. She said I freaked out on Monday afternoon, because it was once again someone telling me I couldn’t be successful at exercise — even if that wasn’t truly what was happening at all. But she was extremely pleased with my progress.

The gym, something once anathema to me, didn’t feel that bad at all. I was able to just walk on the treadmill without a lot of voices in my head telling me how I should do more, or that everyone was judging me for walking, or comparing me to the crazies running on the stair climbers. Mostly.

And I didn’t beat myself up when I didn’t go today. Granted, I shoveled the driveway, which was plenty of a workout for me today.

My assignment for this week is to do a short breathing meditation before breakfast and lunch each day.  Just three minutes.  Or one minute if I have to.

I am also supposed to NOT start counting calories yet, even though it felt like maybe I was ready. Instead, I’m going to refocus on mindful eating.

One step forward…