Capricorn Season: Learning Your Limits

Given the hard words I've had for New Year's resolutions, you would think that the gym would be the last place you would expect to find me in January. I'll be honest, I had my doubts when I started a new exercise practice in at the new year, but my boyfriend and exercise buddy is a master of using the energy of the first few months of the year to kick off major life changes and new habits. For his sake--and with the hope of learn something about how he does it--I swallowed my astrological reservations and handed over the cash for a yearly membership at the gym.

I predicted when I joined that the gym would be the classroom when the sun was in Capricorn. This prediction turned out to be accurate.

This is what I learned during Capricorn season...

Lesson #1: Knowing Your Real Limits is Hard

Saturn, the ruler of Capricorn, is the planet of limits. Something that I have learned repeatedly from Saturn transits is that I don't know where my limits are.

Most of the time, I push myself too hard. I am infamous for taking risks and continuing tasks that I shouldn't continue for the sake of keeping an agreement or meeting benchmarks. (This is unsurprising, since my Saturn is ruled by Mars.) Time and time again, I have learned the value of listening to my feelings and trusting them to tell me when to stop before I break.

It was a great surprise to me to realize that, when it comes to exercise, I have a hard time with limits in the opposite direction.

The first week was amazing. I pushed myself hard and loved every minute of it. My body ached, and my muscles were screaming, but I felt like I was doing something worth doing, and I've rode that high through four sessions of practice.

Predictably, after a couple of days of rest, I lost the enthusiasm I had when I first started. The week before, 30 minutes on the treadmill had come easily. 4 minutes into my first session during the second week, the muscles in my calves hurt more than they ever had in my life.

I heard the voice of my childhood physical therapist in my head. He said, "You know the difference between sore muscles and dangerous joint pain. Stop immediately when you feel joint pain. Otherwise, keep going."

Even with this reassurance, I was convinced that I wouldn't be able to make half the time I committed to, but I couldn't face stopping after only five minutes.

I set 10 minutes as my new benchmark and kept going, prepared to face the consequences of pushing when I shouldn't.

I winced with every step, convinced that the pain was going to get worse. It didn't get better, but, to my surprise, it didn't get worse either.

I hit the 10 minute mark, and a song I really liked came up on the random station I was listening to.

15 minutes and I liked that song, too.

20 minutes, and it felt silly to stop when I was so close to my goal.

At 30 minutes and 20 seconds in, I was in no more pain than when I was after 4 minutes. I slammed the stop button, my goal achieved.

I waited for the consequences to arrive, and they didn't. The next day I was fine, and I was able to spend 30 minutes on the treadmill that day, too. My physical therapist was right. Keeping on was the right thing to do.

It made me wonder how often I suffer more than I have to because of the anticipation of pain. How often do I quit before I need to because I assume that anything bad is going to get worse?

There's a saying in investing that past performance doesn't predict future results. It's easy to assume when you look see something trending in a certain direction that that it's going to continue that way forever unless something changes, but many things have natural limits built into them. Kittens may grow into cats, but they will never be as big as a house.

It takes discernment to figure out when you should make decisions based on how you think things will be in the future and when you need to believe in your ability to push through in the present and keep going.

Lesson #2: Sometimes, Things Aren't as Hard as You Think

During my first week at the gym, there was a machine that absolutely terrified me. I don't know what it's actually called, but, in my head, it's the Superman Machine. Using it requires you to thread your body through these padded iron bars so that only your legs are (kind of) supported as your body tips up at a 45 degree angle. The exercise is to hold yourself there and then bend over with your arms folded over your chest so that, if you fall, the top of your head will crack on the floor. Then you have to lift yourself back up to that 45 degree angle using only your back and the backs of your legs.

The first time I tried it, I absolutely refused to cross my arms over my chest. I knew it would defeat the point of the exercise to use my arms to help, but I insisted on keeping them hovering just over the support bars, so I could save myself if my legs gave way.

I was able to manage doing two bends before I stopped to have a quiet panic in the corner.

The following week, I was expecting more of the same. Maybe, I thought, I would be able to manage *three* bends.

Instead, I discovered that other exercises I'd done that week had strengthened my core more than I thought, and the arrangement that had terrified me the week before didn't seem so bad at all.

I completed a full set of bends and grinned at my boyfriend's surprise as I pranced off to the treadmill for cardio.

Lesson #3: Sometimes Things Are Harder Than You Think (And Pushing Through Isn't the Answer)

The week after I thought I'd made my peace with the Superman Machine, I found myself right back where I started. I did one bend before I flipped out.

"There are alternatives for this, you know," my boyfriend said, and I agreed immediately.

The machine we tried not only wasn't only less terrifying, it was actually fun, and I found that it targeted the muscles we were trying to exercise much better than the Superman Machine.

Sometimes, the easy way is the right way.

Lesson #4: Things Go in Cycles

After the amazing first week, I was convinced that the pleasure I got from it was temporary. It must have been the endorphins giving me a nice push, I thought, rewarding me for that initial effort.

I settled in for an infinite slog.

And the slog did continue. I slogged through my routine for a few weeks, but just as Capricorn season was coming to an end, I sensed a change in the air, like the smell of springtime. I was looking forward to a good workout.

I didn't expect much. I went to the gym like always. I expected it to be hard, and it was hard. As I walked on the treadmill--with much less hysterical pushing now because I'd finally realized my practice was a marathon, not a sprint--I felt my pleasure rising.

I bumped up the speed and grooved with the rhythm of my music, and in my head, I was flying.