The Pain of Discipline or the Pain of Regret?

There’s a poorly worded motivational sign that hangs on the wall of the boutique fitness facility I started going to last July: “Every day you must choose, the pain of discipline or the pain of regret.” They like this message so much that they posted it in three locations. Note the emphasis on the word "pain."

I can’t conceive of any other kind of business, except one involving sadomasochism, that would want to associate its core product with pain and discipline. But there you have it. And they’re right. I appreciate the honesty. Working out is a gigantic pain. 

Arriving at the Gym for a Workout

Naturally, my loved ones have all pushed me for years to suck it up and do it anyway –- and I do. I pay a small fortune two days a week for the privilege of submitting myself to bodily contortion and well-intentioned coercion. My trainer makes more per hour than some law firm partners.

Paradoxically, the trainer and I have a pleasant enough time together pursuing the “pain of discipline.” She and I do a little dance. She pretends there’s no pain involved in the exercises she cheerfully demonstrates to me, but smiles knowingly when it’s my turn and exclamations like “ouch,“ “oy vey,” and worse, involuntarily come out of my mouth. 

Especially at this time of year, everyone wants to get in on the pain. Gyms are crowded. Everyone is pumping iron. I look forward to the February/March drop-off in attendance so I can have a little more room to breathe. 

Looking back on my troubled relationship with physical exercise, I blame the athletic department of the boys’ school I attended from grades 1 through 12 for my bad attitude. In those days, there was little concept of physical education as, well, physical education. Instead, the emphasis was on competitive sport and those who excelled at it. 

I remember the humiliation of not being able to climb a rope and of not getting picked for teams. I still feel the triumph of getting away with cutting gym class, which was really just playing tennis, as a senior. I had already gotten into college and the gym teachers knew I was a lost cause. 

Today, I would not dream of cutting gym. Self-care, my euphemism for exercise, is one of the pillars of my retirement. People claim they don’t have time to exercise when they labor at full-time jobs. I have no such excuse. The gym is right down the street.

As we are immersed in the season of resolutions and self-improvement, I’m doubling down on my self-care. It may be a pain, but it sure as hell beats the pain of regret.