When Did Movement Become Punishment?

In my last post, I talked about why the term “cheat day” makes me cringe and how easily we turn food into something we have to earn or make up for. But we can't really talk about earning food without talking about the other side of that transaction.

Movement.

Somewhere along the way, movement became one of the ways we're supposed to pay for eating. We joke about needing to work off dinner, earn dessert, or get an extra workout in because of what we ate over the weekend. After holidays and vacations, we're told it's time to get back on track and undo the damage, as if enjoying food or stepping away from our normal routine created a problem our bodies now need to fix.

We've heard this shit for so long that I don't think we always recognize it as punishment anymore.

Punishment Doesn't Always Look Like Punishment

It isn't always someone spending hours at the gym trying to burn off what they ate. Sometimes it's much quieter. It's feeling guilty because you took a rest day, believing a walk doesn't count because you didn't sweat enough, or pushing yourself to exercise when you're exhausted because your watch hasn't closed its rings yet. It can also be that constant feeling that whatever you're doing isn't enough. You need more weight, more reps, more steps, more days in the gym, or something else to prove you did enough.

I want to be clear here because joyful movement doesn't mean movement always has to be easy or even fun in the moment. I'm a strength coach and an athlete. I believe in training, working toward goals, challenging ourselves, and doing hard shit. I've had training sessions that were frustrating as hell, and I've had days when I didn't particularly feel like training but still chose to because what I was working toward mattered to me.

For me, the joy isn't necessarily in loving every rep or every training session. It's in having a relationship with movement that gives me something instead of constantly asking me to punish myself. I can struggle with a lift, get frustrated, work really fucking hard, and still find joy in discovering what my body can do.

That's very different from using movement because I believe my body did something wrong. Challenging yourself and punishing yourself can look exactly the same from across the gym, which is why I don't think we can decide what someone's relationship with movement is just by watching what they're doing. What matters is what's happening underneath it.

Maybe a better question is what happens when you can't do the movement you planned. Can you take a rest day without feeling guilty? Can you change the plan when your body needs something different? Does missing a workout change how you think you're allowed to eat that day?

That's where I start paying attention.

The Program Isn't More Important Than the Person

This is also where I think those of us who coach movement have some responsibility because people hear the shit we say, even when we don't realize we're saying it.

If we're constantly talking about burning calories, earning food, fixing bodies, working off weekends, or making people feel guilty because they didn't show up enough, we're teaching something beyond a squat or a deadlift. We're teaching people something about how they're supposed to think about their bodies and their relationship with movement.

I don't want to coach someone to become better at ignoring their body.

If someone tells me something doesn't feel right, I want to know. If they barely slept, haven't eaten enough, are stressed as hell, or something hurts, that information matters. Maybe we change the movement, lower the weight, shorten the session, or do something completely different. There are also going to be times when I know someone is capable of more and I encourage them to push a little harder. The point isn't that we always do less. The point is that we pay attention to the person in front of us.

I have education, certifications, experience, and programming knowledge, and all of those things matter. But none of them mean I know what it feels like to live in somebody else's body. The person I'm coaching has information I can't get from a certification or textbook, and I need to listen to that information if I'm actually going to coach them instead of just handing them instructions.

Sometimes listening to your body means pushing yourself. Sometimes it means adjusting what you're doing, and sometimes it means knowing when to stop. Figuring out the difference isn't always easy, especially when you have goals and really want to do what you planned to do that day.

That's part of joyful movement too.

It isn't just finding movement that makes you smile. It's having enough choice and connection with your body that movement can change depending on what you need. Sometimes the joy is in doing something you didn't think you could do. Sometimes it's moving simply because it feels fucking good. Sometimes it's deciding today's plan isn't working for you and doing something else.

Movement Can Challenge Us Without Punishing Us

I think this is the distinction I want us to pay more attention to because I don't want joyful movement to become another rule we're supposed to follow correctly.

There isn't one right way for movement to feel.

Movement can be lifting something really fucking heavy. It can be learning how to get yourself off the floor, walking your dog, training for a competition, doing rehab, dancing, playing with your kids, or figuring out a way to move that works for your body today. It can challenge you. It can frustrate you. It can surprise you. It can also be something you decide not to do today.

None of those things determines whether you were good or bad.

I don't want to coach people to become better at overriding what their bodies are telling them in the name of discipline. I want to help people build a relationship with movement where they can start figuring out when to push, when to adjust, when to rest, and when they might need some help figuring out the difference.

Movement can be challenging and still be joyful. It can have goals and structure without becoming punishment. Rest can be part of that relationship too.

Maybe instead of asking whether we did enough movement today, we can start getting curious about what our relationship with that movement is asking from us.

Because movement shouldn't be how we make up for eating, resting, missing a workout, or simply living in our bodies.

I've got more to say about this. Next, I want to talk about how weightlifting started changing my relationship with food and what happened when I started asking different questions about what my body needed.