For the first time in my life, I took pictures of myself completely out-of-shape in only my undergarments. Damned if there wasn't a bit of lycra in them too. No make up, no posing, just my tumbly, slouchy self.
I looked at those pictures and was in a state of minor shock. Who's the hobbit? Is it really me? How much poundage DOES the camera add? Does my husband actually SEE this on a daily basis? Dear God, what can he be thinking?
I wish there was a lever in my brain controlling my health. Flip the switch and BAM, I'm running, eating well, hydrating, lifting weights. Time to read or knit, turn it off. Get a craving for a large chocolate milkshake? Flip it on again. No worries, no wonder; just militant-like dedication when I need it most.
I think at the core of my being is a lazy girl who is forever 16 years old. Forever sleepy and slothful. During my life, I beat her back for years while trying to be Martha Stewart, successful career girl, bombshell, athlete, and trainer. Then my family moved to Iowa and with the hypnotic swaying of the corn fields, I opted for dinners out instead of prepared nutritous food, books read instead of miles run, bed rest instead of weight training.
I made peace with myself. "Fitness guilt" was miles and miles away. Back in Western NY ... back with my mile-marked running routes and inspirational weight training room filled with pictures of athletes in training, runners blowing snot rockets, sneaker ads, etc.
I was the alpha-lioness. Any hunting needed? I'll do it! Now I'm more like the second in command. Oooo, juicy wildebeast for lunch? Yeah, you go do that and bring me back a leg.
Oh blessed denial, come back! My mind needs you. Let's just fall into a good book together and get lost because so much of me craves the bad habits -- staying in bed when I should be up, knitting when I should be landscaping, watching "Buffy the Vampire Slayer" when I should be working out, fatty foods, salt, chocolate, and sugar. Heavenly sugar.
I remember through the sucrose high a 20-something woman believing failure was NOT an option. Hard work made a good life. Pain was good and gains were never good enough. You ran 3 seconds faster than the last time, but how can we slice a full minute off that time? So long ago ...
Who then, am I? What have I become? The Talmud says, "If not now, when?" I answer back, "If now, how?" And that's really the crux of everything ... those three little letters forming the question that leans over my back every day ... HOW?
Am I Ready?
