I bend down to pick up Little Baby and the familiar pain shoots up the back of my thighs all the way up my shoulders. I. Am. Sore.
Yesterday I worked out. With twelve other women I endured grueling reps of endless dead-lifts, walking lunges (with weights), jumping jacks, push-ups, tricep dips, side-twists, stairs...
Raised arms. Bending down. Jumping up. Feet pounding the ground. Fingers clenched around weights. Body twisting left, and then right. Breathing in, and then out. Sweat beading on my brow, trickling down my back. For sixty minutes I command my body to move, to lift, to turn. The energy flowing from my core. Cautiously pushing its physical capacity. For sixty minutes I endure the pain that will be a testament to strengthened muscles and stronger bones and a healthier heart.
I look around me and I'm amazed at these moving limbs, made up of bones, flesh, and muscle, controlled by a smaller mass that sits at the top of it all. Marveling at the Maker for His ingenious and detailed creativity. These bodies that are able to move. Bodies that area able to serve. Bodies that are able to live out hope and redemptive transformation. Bodies entrusted to each of us.
Yesterday I worked out. With twelve other women I endured grueling reps of endless dead-lifts, walking lunges (with weights), jumping jacks, push-ups, tricep dips, side-twists, stairs...
Raised arms. Bending down. Jumping up. Feet pounding the ground. Fingers clenched around weights. Body twisting left, and then right. Breathing in, and then out. Sweat beading on my brow, trickling down my back. For sixty minutes I command my body to move, to lift, to turn. The energy flowing from my core. Cautiously pushing its physical capacity. For sixty minutes I endure the pain that will be a testament to strengthened muscles and stronger bones and a healthier heart.
I look around me and I'm amazed at these moving limbs, made up of bones, flesh, and muscle, controlled by a smaller mass that sits at the top of it all. Marveling at the Maker for His ingenious and detailed creativity. These bodies that are able to move. Bodies that area able to serve. Bodies that are able to live out hope and redemptive transformation. Bodies entrusted to each of us.
And then it's over. The agonizing movements cease. My body relaxes and recovers. My matted hair sticks to my forehead and my neck. I zip up my sweater and pull the sleeves over my balled hands, shivering in the cold that greets my tired body. Drizzling raindrops cover my face as I jog lightly down the hill back home. Breathing steadily. Thanking God for a healthy body, a strong body, an able body.
Day 9 of Cultivating joy through 20 days of gratefulness.