This is what happened when I stopped working out

Good afternoon!

About six weeks ago I announced my official vacation from working out. I promised myself to avoid all kinds of exercise for at least a month. The reason: I suddenly realized I’d had less than ten weeks off from training, in the past ten years, and my body had started telling me I’d been pushing too hard for too long.

So how did it go?

I did it! I fought through six weeks of no running, lifting or ab-workouts. Needless to say, I’m very proud of myself.

I had one tiny relapse, where I sprinted 100m out of pure frustration. I felt so crappy, stressed and restless I just had to blow off some steam. (Yup, I’m that weird.)
But other than that, I’ve tried to enjoy the sedentary life of a journalist.

I did indulge in a little jumping at the beach though.

What did you gain from it?

Other than weight, you mean? Just kidding. I had more time to spend with my family and friends. I slept in until past 5:45 a.m. every morning instead of hitting the gym before work, and I could direct all my attention towards work and other projects, which was kinda nice.

Any physical changes?

Well, six weeks is a short time in the big picture, but most of the ache and pain in my feet, ankles and knees improved a little week by week. I lost a little weight, probably muscle mass, and I’ve been asked if I’ve had a boob job — twice. Lol! Must’ve been all the cake I’ve been eating lately, because I’ve certainly not had any work done. But thanks… I guess?

The picture to the left is from 2013 and the one to the right is now. So don’t let yourself be too deceived, ok? 😉

What’s next?

If you quit something, smoking for example, you’re probably supposed to stay away from it for ever. But working out isn’t smoking, so I’ll ease back into a moderate training schedule.

This morning I ran a few minutes on the treadmill, before I did a couple of rotations on the stationary bike.

As I let my eyes drift off the treadmill-screen, I observed some people moaning under bent barbells in the squat rack, and all the other veiny creatures pushing themselves to their physical limit. Their callused hands wiping sweat off their wrinkled training programs, the endorphins rushing through their brain — the exercise addicts.

2013. I used to be one of those people myself.
Three years ago.

Then, as I slowed down the speed on the treadmill, I thought to myself: Man, I’ve gotten far. I’m not one of them anymore.

Not today anyway.

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