On the joy of manual labor

For the past two weeks I've been almost exclusively consumed with packing my apartment for my move down south.  I've moved before, but never after having acquired enough belongings to fill a one-bedroom apartment and to live an almost adult lifestyle (which requires things like coffee grinders and mattresses on frames and with box springs).  I also have packed my apartment exclusively on my own--one of the only downsides to being single and roommate-less.  Needless to say, the whole process was a lot more grueling and exhausting than I ever anticipated.  It turned into an exercise...no, not an exercise in anything in particular...just exercise.

Now, I'm not one for exercise.  I'll go to the gym if a friend wants a gym buddy, but that's more for socializing than fitness, and that's the extent of my physical fitness awareness.  I count walking to class as my exercise for the day.  Don't get me wrong, I'm aware of health in lots of other ways...just not physical fitness.  So, because I so seldom experience true exercise, my encounter with physical exertion these past few days, through packing, has brought me to a realization: physical exertion, manual labor...it feels really good!

It feels really good to work hard.  Feel active and motivated.  Make progress that you can see, physically.  Sweat. Get your heart rate up.  It feels good.  It also feels pretty darn empowering to be able to manage all of the manual labor on my own.  Reassures me that, while I may not be running a half-marathon everyday, I'm not a blob either.  I'm really darn capable.  I get reassurance of my mental capabilities in my work everyday, but it's not so often that I get reassurance of my physical capabilities.  That's kind of nice to get.

So, while packing is kind of the worst...at least something good comes from it.

I am woman! Hear me ROAR!

Keep on thinking,
Josie