Have you ever had a day when the thought of working out is unbearable and nothing seems to go right? Thankfully, those days have been few and far between lately – until yesterday. It was one of those days where even the sound of birds happily chirping on my way into the gym seemed to mock me. My brain was engulfed by a thick, suffocating fog that magnified my irritation. I felt disconnected from the world. My body was tired and sore before I lifted a finger. Everything was off. Even my favorite playlist failed to improve the situation.

Once I started lifting, it was no better. Between each set the overwhelming urge to flee to the car for a sob fest threatened to take over. I tried summoning every mantra I’ve ever muttered, but they all sounded so stupid. Positive self talk didn’t work. Prayer seemed pointless. The weights were unusually heavy and the 1st mile of my run was torture. My legs were heavy and uncoordinated, which made the monotony of running in place maddening. 

Somehow I managed to get through my workout. It helped that my husband was there with me because it kept me from leaving. As I ran, the sludge in my brain shifted slightly, but it wasn’t a cure like it typically is. Usually a long run turns things around for me, but not this time. This day was an unwelcome reminder that sometimes we all have a crappy day.

 I hate days like this because I know how easily one bad day can snowball into many if I’m not proactive. This self awareness is another reason I kept pushing through. Even if the workout didn’t immediately turn things around, I couldn’t allow the darkness to win. Quitting would’ve haunted me for the remainder of the day only adding to the misery I already felt. Pressing forward set me up to try again tomorrow.

During my treadmill miles I searched my mind for the reason why I felt so bad. We just celebrated Easter, and I had experienced a new and deeper appreciation for my faith. Was I experiencing a letdown? 

My kids went back to college, which always affects me emotionally. It never gets any easier. Maybe waking up to a quiet house reminded me of how quickly time was moving.

The weather had been gloomy for what felt like forever. Several cold, rainy days kept me indoors, and I opted to run on the treadmill. Missing my daily dose of fresh air and nature never bodes well for me. 

I had also taken two days off from working out, which likely contributed to the stiffness that infiltrated my joints – especially in my hips, and especially after sitting for a prolonged period of time. I was guilty of that, in addition to stopping my daily stretching and foam rolling routine. My joints were probably protesting the neglect by seizing up on me.

Maybe all the salty, processed food I ate on Easter contributed to my problems. I knew full well that some of the foods I ate could come back to bite me, but I ignored that wisdom and stuffed myself anyway. It was a holiday after all! But what good did that proclamation do for me now? It had been fun in the moment, but that moment was fleeting.

Maybe it was a lupus flare. Perhaps the food, lack of exercise and an annoying sore throat had triggered a reaction.

Another likely culprit was perimenopause. I’ve read a lot  (and listened to lots of podcasts) about women’s joints suddenly screaming out in pain, thanks  to drops in estrogen. I was experiencing symptoms of PMS so I knew my hormones were out of whack. What’s frustrating to me is that so many symptoms of my autoimmune disease and perimenopause overlap, so it’s nearly impossible to figure out which is rearing its ugly head. Unfortunately for me, I think both of them decided to show up this time in solidarity. 

The reason I bring all this up is to acknowledge that we all have bad days, and in retrospect there can be many things that lead up to them. However, it doesn’t mean we are doomed to feel this way forever. For some of us that fear of getting trapped in a cycle is very real because of past experiences. Trust me, I’ve been there. The place where darkness shows no sign of letting up and hope seems to be nonexistent. Memories of those stretches in time haunt me when days like these pop up. That’s why it’s so critical to look objectively at the situation to find things I can do to resume control and prevent a spiral. In hindsight it’s easy to see that there were several things that could’ve triggered my body’s meltdown. There are definitely things I could’ve done differently, but life (and me!) isn’t perfect so I  just have to learn and move on. 

It was a good reminder that, like it or not, what I eat has an impact on how I feel – especially now that I’m older and trying to keep my autoimmune in check. We all need breaks and days off to rest, but I’m realizing my body responds better when I move it every day. The more I sit, the more things hurt. That doesn’t mean I have to run 5 miles a day or lift heavy weights every day. It just means I need to do something. Keeping track of my symptoms and cycle is a real pain in the butt, but I’ve learned it’s necessary to help me identify patterns. It clearly illustrates the impact certain behaviors have on my mind and body, and how easily they can catch up to me. 

Days when I feel like this, it’s so tempting to give up before I ever start. That first step out the door is overwhelming. The voices in my head conspire to keep me down. But knowing I powered through is a huge win, setting me up for a better day tomorrow. I created momentum. I am empowered to make better choices. Hopefully when I’m tempted to curl up on the couch instead of rolling and stretching, this memory will motivate me to choose wisely. Hopefully, when I feel like eating food that could trigger symptoms, I’ll reconsider. Most of all I know that I can keep moving forward, one step at a time. Even if some of those steps are painful, I can celebrate the fact that I didn’t give up. Tomorrow is a new day. I’m already looking forward to it being better.