Ch-ch-ch-changes

My body is showing signs of overexertion (again...thanks, body.) I pulled a muscle (or twelve?) in my back, and strained my shoulder.  And some other TMI-ish sorts of things.  Long story short, I'm grounded from the gym until further notice. And making friends with ice and Advil and heating pads. 

But come four thirty or so, my body is ramped up and ready to conquer the world.  Or, at least the gym.  This time last year, I was about to beg for days off from the gym so I could get everything done. Now, I don't know what to do with myself.  I'm antsy and I miss it. I want to be with those who have become my people. I want to come home completely spent and crawl into bed. I eat better when I go to the gym and don't crave sugar. I'm nicer and more productive.  The truth is that on many days, the gym is the thing I most look forward to. 

I was off from the gym for two and a half weeks due to illness.  At least my body understood that, and I didn't have the energy to fight.  But I feel perfectly well, so I'm having to fight to do what's best for me.  Silly voices in my head are saying dumb things like "If you go to the gym early enough, He-who-trains will never know." 

Who is this person who is fighting to go to the gym, and threatening to do it even though I know my body is saying no? Apparently, the gym has become part of who I am.  I never thought I'd see the day when a few days off from the gym would feel like more of a curse than a blessing.