One Way or Another

I decided a few days ago that it was time to get rid of the Covid 25 (Alright, amateur, i know you say 19, but i passed 19 back in May, and my snarky scale puts me at 25…) I woke early this morning, eager to try some new exercises that are supposed to improve my posture and back strength. This, in turn, should help tighten my abs and find my lost waistline. A few old-school stretches in my jammies, and then down to business.

Queue up some motivating music. Blondie seems good. She is older and still badass, right? Who better to spur on my slightly athletic reclaiming of my sassy bod? Crank it up! Grab a glass of water to replenish all the healthy sweat i’m about to give off. I can almost feel the fat rendering like bacon in a cast iron skillet.

“CALL ME! CALL ME! ON THE LINE. CALL ME, CALL ME ANY, ANYTIME!” (Insert head bang.)

I push my exercise ball into the middle of my office slash craft supply closet, sit on it, and then gently roll back. Each vertebrae gives a satisfying crack as it bends itself around the powder blue rubber. It actually feels good – The ancient muscle memory of my more flexible days starting to kick in and make it easier. I can feel my spine lengthening. Aaaah. This is good. I can learn to like this.

I’m not sure when i lost control. A second or an hour later, i opened my eyes and i was under my desk. The sight around me wasn’t pretty.

“BACK TO BACK, SACRILIAC. SPINELESS MOVEMENT AND A WILD ATTACK”

Still unsure as to exactly what i had done, i rolled to my side in an effort to get up and THWACK – head gets clocked.

Keyboard 1, Momma 0.

I let out the requisite string of cusswords as i extract myself from under the sliding keyboard shelf. I assess the damage. Both keyboards are on the floor, along with a mouse – the other mouse is dangling from it’s wire like a first time rock-climber. Sliding shelf is wonky and jammed. Monitor is setting at an angle i didn’t know it was capable of. Lamp is busted in half and conveniently setting on top of the trash can. My middle toe is bleeding. I’ve got hematomas on the inside of one thigh and the outside of the other (Think about the astounding amount of un-talent that takes!) There’s a lump on my head from the keyboard. And the exercise ball is lightly bouncing against the wall in the hallway. It’s laughing at me, i swear.

“YEAH SHE’S SO DULL, COME ON, RIP HER TO SHREDS!”

I spent the next half hour having an actual conversation with myself, debating whether i should continue to risk injury and broken décor to get fit, or if i should just stay schlumpy.

There was a time when i was graceful. There was a time when i was in great shape. There was a time when i could try a new workout and not be battered, bruised, and bleeding. Of course, there was also a time when you could get a snickers bar for a quarter, and i don’t think that time is coming back either.

There is a reason that so many of us gain weight when we hit middle age. I can’t speak for everyone, but i think a lot of us just get tired of trying “Cardio Funk” and falling down instead of getting down. Or accidentally snapping a resistance band in our face. Or realizing that your average 2 year-old could count the number of push-ups we can do. (Yes, those are all personal examples.) And it’s easy, when you hit that level of frustration, to become resigned in your squishiness and convince yourself that the effort isn’t worth it.

“LOST INSIDE… ADORABLE ILLUSION, AND I CANNOT HIDE..”

I’m not talking about the social-media fueled obsession with thinness and perfection here. I’m talking just basic health. Fit enough to walk the dog and carry in all the groceries without breathing hard. I don’t need to fit into the jeans i wore in high school… I just want to fit into the jeans i wore last year. (Ok, last month.) And, damn-it-all, i can do it. I know i can. Even if my bruises from this morning tell me otherwise.

I may have to swallow my pride and find some Sweatin’ to the Oldies until the marks from my latest embarrassment fade away, but i won’t give up. It may take me longer than i’d like to get back on track and be remotely hourglass again, but i won’t give up. I may have to stab that exercise ball with my largest carving knife to make myself feel better, but i won’t give up.

“I’M NOT THE KIND OF GIRL WHO GIVES UP JUST LIKE THAT, OH NO!”

On second thought, better find another way to get back at the ball – With my luck, i’d cut my own leg off.

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