Thursday, April 19, 2012
The Shape Up
I believe that everybody has a subheading; something they are most known for, second to their name.
For example, I am Miss Coordinate, and secondly, I'm the girl with the huge knockers. From now on however, I will be known to many as Miss Coordinate - the girl who fell off the treadmill.
My new health kick saw me doing things I had laughed about doing before, like not drinking at the bar on Friday night and being the designated driver. I was very put off at first - change tends to shock me out of my habits.
Much like a man with commitment issues, I like to try before I buy, so I kept purchasing casual visits to the gym. I had started feeling very good about myself after a few sessions, and finally bit the bullet and joined (for a month). I don't know if it was an indicator of the storm to come, but much like toxic relationships, as soon as I was committed to it, I started to find things that were wrong about it and panicked.
- I went to take a photo for my membership, and the computer actually froze. I thought he was kidding, because I was that reluctant to have my after-work-frazzle-monster-face caught and immortalized. My face actually broke something, and I had to pose again (this time with a little bit of a jilted smile)
- I decided to take a spin class, and after doing a full lap of the gym, and walking through the weights area (aka the hello-baby-man-smell-rape-dungeon-pitt-of-kaniption), I found the class in a small dark room filled with close-knit bikes and strobe lighting. After about 20 minutes of this class, or hell- whichever, I felt like an epileptic mountain goat & could no longer lift my limbs above 5cm from the ground. I had to (very politely and sheepishly) flood the room with light once more and leave. Due to the shin cramping, I thought it would be a good idea to walk it off on the treadmill, as penance for giving up on my class. As I started to feel better and get excited, I lifted my leg to run and once more cramped up. The result of this was not to
a. press the emergency stop button.. it was
b. forget I was on a fast-moving platform that would not stop to check on my welfare, and proceed to fall quite flailingly, on the ground.
As I post my inner-most thoughts, I reflect on them. I guess if you keep everything to yourself, you have nothing to measure it by. Somewhere, between the dolls that splash around in their make up kits before their 3 minute stint on the treadmill, and the sweat factory that is always open for business in my pants when I am there, the gym has helped me find myself. I don't know if it's the layers o' mine shedding, but I have realised how bitter I have been, and how happy I am to just let it all go, and change my own subheading.
I think people that seem bitter are just doing so because a part of them wants to "prepare" for the worst, so that we don't expect too much and are more let down when (sorry - if) something doesn't work out.
It's always braver, and always stupider, to give yourself away every time with no reservations and just
Shape Up & Quit the Bitterness.
Sweat is just fat crying. Bitterness is just wasted Opportunity building a blankie-fort and eating a bucket of Ben & Jerry's on a Saturday night.
Some people say "I'm not bitter, I'm just realistic". Bzzzt. Bullshit. You're just as shit scared as anybody else, you are just too much so to admit that you don't want to be hurt in any way ever.
It comes down to what we believe.
Nobody wants to believe in something with their wholeness and then have that belief destroyed when their carriage turns back into a pumpkin.
And thus, you lose out on feeling, on opportunities, and most of all, on love.
I didn't want to believe that I couldn't finish that spin class, so I pushed myself.. but after my shins collapsed and I hit my head on the handles due to my legs giving way, I realised (when the stars cleared) that sometimes we just need a new pumpkin to carve into whatever the freaking hell we want it to be.
Recognising the difference between bitter and realistic:
Bitter: you're good looking, which means you probably have the mental capacity of a staple gun, and only want to staple me and move on to the next bit of paper.
The benefit of the doubt (BOD) - ahhh. Our old friend BOD. I think I had a falling out with BOD when all my experiences made believing in it seem really really stupid. Let's reconnect with BOD, because maybe it can still surprise us. (The bitterness in me is cringing).
As my excess fat and fear falls away, I have dropped my bitterness and started to enjoy feeling the burn.
Sometimes the difference between bitter and realistic is as thin a line as a tightrope, but I BELIEVE that the difference is knowing what to believe in.
What do we let ourselves believe? What do we know? I think Life and Love are about ACTIONS, and not WORDS.
Don't talk about going to the gym, losing weight, toning up, your troubles, your worries, your lack of Something.
Don't talk about wanting to spoil me, prove yourself to me, treat me well, fight for me..
Get up and do something.
Changing my subheading to 'The Will-Be-Chiseled Optimist'
<3 Miss Coordinate