I’m too honest for my own damn good. I can’t even begin to try to sell this.
I got off the phone with my favorite delicious man and poured myself a stiff triple.
I’ve realized that I need to find a healthy way of coping with the crippling frustration he inspires. Given the choice of pharmaceutical drugs or exercise, I made the brilliant, inebriated decision to commit to 90 days of Crossfit.
I initially blamed the fishbowl of gin. I even admitted it when I went to sign up.
J- It was motivated by gin, vanity, and the stubborn desire to have what I want.
Crossfit lady- You are not alone. I get a lot of registrations that time of the evening! So what are your goals?
J- I lost my entire physical body at 18 when I had a baby. I want that back and I’m an overachiever. I’ll do it. I’m committed. I’m a firstborn, ridiculously stubborn and competitive.
Crossfit lady- That helps!! So do you have a size or weight loss goal, any objective?
J- I just want to like myself again. Or feel good enough. It’s been a long year.
She was stunned. I could tell. Oops. I say shit like that sometimes and refer to it as me slipping and “writing out loud”
Crossfit lady- Stop right there… you are already good enough. I’m excited for you.
Fast forward through bronchitis that made me cancel my first training and I decided after a hard day to just work through the cold and go … ….
Wednesday was my first day.
I was absolutely terrified when I walked in. There aren’t any machines, just friendly faces. I have my own trainer and he’s nice. Not the typical lecherous gym rat guy, either. He’s more like having a little brother teach you how to lose some weight.
I walked in awkward…but also hopeful. I found a healthy coping mechanism and the results won’t suck.
I was picking out imaginary bikinis when my trainer handed me a jump rope.
I’m not lazy. I do everything at my house and in the yard, including grow a half acre of vegetables. I’m not afraid to lift the heavy boxes.
But I’ll tell you what I couldn’t do… LOL… I could not jump rope to save my life. We were both laughing about it when he found me a regular jump rope and everything worked out. Air squats started out fine and ended up torturous. I didn’t think I could do two situps and I did 40. Of all the things that I thought would hurt the most, my abs hurt the least.
My thighs feel like I was in a boxing match with Mike Tyson and he had something against thighs. Walking up stairs makes me feel like tightly strung wire and walking downstairs makes me feel like someone ripped the rug out from underneath me.
I get to do it all again today and as much as I know it’s going to hurt… I’m excited.
Instead of wallowing, drinking or pouting… instead of staying up too late or avoiding people entirely… I’m going WAY outside of my comfort zone because I can’t afford not to anymore. There’s a point that sadness gets dangerous and much like everything else in my life, I have to be my own hero and it’s time to get flying…
It’s a half hour of extreme suffering with a few days off in between. I can do it. I will survive it… and maybe… just maybe…
I’ll feel a whole lot better about myself in the process.