I hate it!
In Jr. High, we had to perform square dancing in gym class. I always would get stuck with the kid who smelled like onions. His hands were clammy and the smell made me want to vomit all over my knee high socks. Exercise is my onion smelling partner.
I realize it would help if I didn’t have issues with food. Unfortunately I’ve been stalked and I was attacked. I narrowly escaped being completely raped. I walked away with a fat lip and many bruises. Most of the bruises faded except the ones on my soul. My soul believes fat protects me from being attacked again. My head knows better but my soul sabotages. I will make progress but as soon as someone compliments me my soul hurries to build a protective fort out of trans fats.
Plus, genetics hate me. My father died at the age 34 from a heart attack. If I don’t want to orphan my daughter, I have to take that clammy hand and run on.
I took the last month and half off while on the road trip and for being sick but today I tied on my sneakers, pulled on the spandex, latched Baby Bug into her stroller and took to the sidewalk. It sucks! I’ve tried for so many years to be one of those people who loves to exercise but it hasn’t happened for me. I do it because I have no other choice. I wish I liked it. It would make life so much easier.
Perhaps if I didn’t look like an idiot while working out it would help. I’m the world’s slowest runner. Seriously! Once an old man walking with a cane and a fake leg lapped me. At Zumba I look as if I’m trying to bring back slam dancing as I throw my fat butt around the floor in moves no one should ever attempt but I’m compelled to complete by the momentum of all my weight. In yoga as I’ve stood trembling in tree position, I’m sure several of my tiny yogi companions have feared they will be crushed by one of my limbs. You get the picture and it ain’t pretty.
If I was completely honest -> I’m angry! I’m angry I had to dance with clammy onion boy. I’m angry I have to workout when others can do nothing and be so thin they can hide behind a limbo pole. I’m angry an attacker took away so much freedom and life from me. I’m angry I haven’t manged to heal all the bruises he left. I’m angry I was orphaned. I’m angry I live in fear of orphaning my own daughter every minute of every day. I’m just plain angry. It is anger which propels me to drag my onion smelling partner very slowly down the road.
I’m stuck with this reluctant partner. I keep hoping out there on the sidewalk I will find a way to make peace with this necessary companion. For now, exercise is the only thing standing between me becoming that 600 lb woman who has to have a wall knocked down in her house and a fork lift to move her.