As I was forcing myself up yet another flight of the deadly Black St. stairs, I though, why do I do this?
It honestly can't be fun, huffing and puffing up a 200+ flight of iron stairs only to turn around and bandy-legg it back down again. But every lunch hour, if I don't have something better to do like grocery shopping or going to the library, if the weather is nice out, if I brought my workout clothes and runners...I'll head out to torture myself willingly.
(if the stars are aligned just so...if we are having an eclipse...if my hair is behaving itself..if it's not windy)
I'm almost, well actually quite, ashamed to say I do it so I can see improvement in my body. I want muscles, I want to be fit. I also feel that low-lying pressure of 'weight' that I am sure all girls/women feel. A revelation for me was when I was grumbling about how my jelly belly wasn't obeying the confines of jean waistbands when a friend, far thinner than myself, joined in the self-loathing. I was flabbergasted. People smaller than myself feel the pressure? Feel the cut of underwear into their flab thighs and bums, the gouge of a muffin-top overflowing tight pants, even if it's just in their heads?
It's so very insidiuous, this self-hate. One minute you're loving yourself in the mirror, naked with a rockin' body before a shower, then you're examining your legs for early signs of varicose veins and 'cankles.' Or cellulite. Or whatever.
We're not 13, or 15 or hell, 19 anymore. Why fight ourselves? I do tell myself this, but man, it's tough. And I am not a large individual.
Everyone feels this way, which totally shocked me. You can't really escape it, but you can deal with it. It's nice to know you're not alone in your masochistic workouts, or guilty Wine Gum candy sessions.
Keep on keeping on! (oh but I do recommend getting into a good workout routine..it does help the brain recognize you need those large thighs for running!)
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