The Workout Closet

It started with a challenge. For both of us. If I started working out, he would stop drinking coca-cola. (Actually it began with all the delicious German bread I'd been eating for the past three months...) So I reluctantly agreed, giving no indication of how long the deal would last. Because I hate working out. Historically, I've needed a workout buddy to force me to go to the gym, and even then, it's usually for yoga. I don't mind stretching; it's sweating and increasing my heart rate that is so unappealing.

I began cautiously: twenty minutes on the stationary bike with a really good book and a fan, so that I didn't notice the burn in my legs or the sweat on my neck.

Now, I am grateful for the workout facility we have here. It has lots of different machines and all kinds of weights--even some of those giant balls that look promising, but you end up bouncing on your butt way more than toning muscles because bouncing on your butt is just so fun! Anyway, the location of the workout room leaves something to be desired. It's basically a glorified closet. Athletes are usually coming in and out, toting volleyballs or basketballs to the gym, which is good because the automatic light shuts off every five minutes, making it difficult to read, and no amount of desperate arm waving, or even flinging your book across the room from your position on the stationary bike will turn the light back on. And every fifteen minutes or so, you are startled from your engrossing book by an enormous crashing sound, which is only a renegade basketball pounding briefly against the closet doors.

After a couple weeks, I thought perhaps I might try the elliptical machine. It had always looked a tiny bit fun. Five minutes on it told me I had been deceived. It wasn't fun. It felt like torture as muscles I didn't even know I had began to cry for mercy. 

I workout in boat shoes, please don't judge me.

In the spirit of not being a quitter, I turned on some music, hoping for a distraction. (By that time, I'd found that elliptical reading wasn't impossible, but the dizziness and near falls that ensued made it a less practical choice.)

Maybe it was the CD I chose. In case you can't tell from my other posts, I've always been a big fan of 10th Avenue North...ever since I helped them find a marker to write their set list for our PBA student activities coffeehouse night, before they were famous. (Yes, I'm bragging. And yes, I kept the playlist after I helped clean-up). But as I ran (ellipticalled?), the lyrics began to penetrate my pounding heart.

you fought but you were just too weak

so you lost all the things you tried to keep

now your're on your knees

your're on your knees

As my body ached for rest, my soul ached for God's presence, and I could feel it through the music.

but wait, everything can change

in a moment's time

you don't have to be afraid

'cause fear is just a lie

open up your eyes

I felt desperate. Aware of how desperate I really am for him.

and He'll break open the skies to save
those who cry out His name
the one the wind and waves obey
is strong enough to save you

And when someone, who I knew needed prayer to be set free, joined me in the workout closet, I began to silently pray one of the most passionate pleas I've ever prayed...for someone I hardly knew. 

Working out has begun to grow in me what I've been taught fasting produces: an awareness of our need for God. A tangible reminder of how desperate we really are for him. Who knew that working out would be such a spiritual experience? Perhaps it could be a modern day "spiritual discipline".

These days, what motivates me to go to the gym isn't holding up my end of the coca-cola bargain, or shedding the extra pounds from the German bread, or knowing I'll be letting down a workout buddy; It's the knowledge of how profoundly I need him, that I know will sink deeply into my bones as I pound away on that machine. It's pouring my heart out to him in desperation, and in gratitude for rescuing me. It's the awareness that I need a Savior.  And sometimes, let me be honest, it's still a really good book!