In My Own Way

I despised my 7th grade English teacher. She routinely went out of her way to tell me that I needed to speak louder, be more assertive, etc. The only thing positive I remember learning in her class was that the word “cleave” meant to bind together and to separate all at the same time. Ever since then, I have been fascinated by how something can simultaneously be one extreme and the other all wrapped up into one.

Sadly, I am not the personality type that is multiple extremes. I say sadly because I have found vivacious people to be free, passionate and full of fire and ice. Spice and Sweet. You get the idea. My husband, my son, hell even my dogs- they run through life at a breakneck pace. They are a cacophony of light, noise, art and innovation. They are what makes my life unique.

I am, in every sense of the word-sensible. Dependable. Practical. Hardworking. I am proud of those things, they have helped me have a good life. Even my hobbies-knitting, making soap, gardening, having chickens-they all have a purpose. It is how I justify my joys-they have a duty to fulfill.

So at age 31 I have found myself in a dilemma, that, in my practical mind, didn’t make sense. I had a family that was fit, healthy and able to exercise and run around for hours in the hot desert sun. And I can’t. Not because I don’t want to-but because, frankly, I am in my own way. With my size, with my weight. I have been a big girl all my life.

And it’s other things as well. I can’t wear the pencil skirts I long for in shops. I can’t be comfy in an airplane seat. I have beautiful clothes and I am meticulous with my hair and my makeup-but I don’t want to be a “beautiful large woman” anymore. I want to be a beautiful woman, period.

I should have deeper reasons for being ready-really, finally ready-so lose this weight. It should be for those lofty, extreme goals-to be around for grandkids. To run a marathon. To hike the alps (no thank you). However, in my dependable mind-I just want to be able to ride my bike with my family without fucking dying. I would like to buy a pencil skirt.

And so, in my own way, I have made changes the last month with Mr.’s support and wonderful menu planning. I go to a gym 5 days a week with a trainer to do cardio for 45 minutes. And on Saturdays my husband, with his background as a PE teacher-he charts bike rides for us and is teaching me how to use the heavy bag in the garage. Below is me-Me! Dependable me-doing this thing. Boxing? Me? The knitter? The lady who mentors people are work on how to be organized-look what I have become in my own way. Maybe greatness is in there, somewhere.

It is here that, if I were made of gorgeous extremes I would saying something pumped about I was gonna do this or I was ALL in, etc–but I am too practical for an instant cure with magic coffee or magic words. These changes will take time and will be hard. But I can do it.

workout2

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