It’s been far too long since I’ve had even a moment where I liked the body I was in. We’re talking about 6ish years ago. Back before grad school. Back when I was stuck in my dead-end job. Back when I thought I was fat. Oh how hindsight is 20/20. What I would do to see my scale say that “fat” number now.
So I finally decided to do something about it. After all…this year is a milestone birthday…so I might as well try and feel good about myself. I joined the gym. I got a trainer. I’ve been going every-other day. I went from barely being able to complete 5 minutes with a break on the elliptical to doing 10 minutes non-stop. In a week. Okay…fine. I get it. You can make big strides in small amounts of time if you stay consistent. I get it.
In the past, when I’ve tried working out, I have tried two different things. 1) bootcamp-style classes. Lots of body-weight activities and some free weight. 2) running. lots of walk/running.
I have always stayed away from “machines”. They were intimidating. I didn’t know how to use them. I didn’t know what settings to use. I didn’t know what weights to start with. What was a rep? What was a set? How was I supposed to know?
Well, guess what? Now I know. I’m doing cardio on the elliptical and bike. But I’m also using weight machines. My trainer helped me answer all those questions. I have lifted more weights since starting the gym than ever before. BUT, I’m also no where near as sore as past times I’ve worked out. I attribute that to the fact that I know what I’m doing. I have help now. Machines only let me go in one direction. As long as I follow the “rules” that my trainer set for me, the chances of my using wrong form are significantly less than when I did stuff on my own.
In short…I love it. I feel better. I look forward to my time in the gym. I hope to feel results soon. I hope to see results soon too.
Yes, I’ll admit it that I am totally one of those people who takes pictures at the gym and posts them to Instagram. However, they are not selfies (no one needs to see my sweaty, beet-red face). I tend to take a picture of the equipment I’m about to workout on, or my leg or hand during the exercise. I have a couple of friends who have been helping keep me accountable, so it’s my way to show that I’m there, putting in the work.
I have received “likes” and encouraging words from friends and family on my posts. I love the encouragement. I love being able to encourage my friends when they are trying to make positive changes for themselves as well.
What I didn’t expect? John has started liking my Instagram posts. He has always been big into fitness – that’s part of his military training. Okay…great. He likes my posts of fitness related stuff. Whatever. The other day he sends me a DM with a short little video about why lifting weights is good. So, I watch the video. I’ll even say that I liked the video. It was relevant.
HOWEVER… the last time John and I “talked” was when he told me to leave him the fuck alone until I apologized to his wife for how much I hurt her when we broke up. I’m not even going to touch the whole “apologize” aspect of that sentence. I’m going to focus on the first part…where he told me to leave him the fuck alone. I have. I have left him alone. I haven’t “liked” his Instagram posts. I haven’t sent him any messages. I don’t even have his phone number anymore.
If you like my post because you want to support me on what I hope is a transformation for the better…awesome. If you like my posts because you are proud of me…awesome. If you like my posts because you feel inspired yourself…awesome. If you like my posts because you think “it’s about damn time”…fuck you…only I’m allowed to say that about this.
I don’t know what his “likes” mean. I don’t know what his DM means. Did I reply to his DM? Nope. He told me to leave him the fuck alone. If this is his way of trying to talk again maybe he should be a fucking adult and use words.
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