I haven’t been writing. Not for any profound reason, per say, just life. Life is the reason. It got in the way and quite honestly I was happy to let it. I was living my life, not in words on a page, but in practice.
Cliff Notes version of what’s been happening with me: crazy work hours, finishing my Master’s degree, wedding prep for my little brother, and just the everyday mundane.
A piece of the everyday mundane has been a new workout routine. I jumped on the Beachbody 80 Day Obsession bandwagon, but I’m not going to be one of those people that gets all preachy about how life-changing it is and how much I’m quite literally obsessed with it. I hate it. Flat out, hate it.
For no other reason, than I would rather walk the circumference of the Earth fifty times over than do workouts where you squeeze muscles you really didn’t think moved that way and then having the distinct pleasure of feeling that squeeze with every move, you make for the next 24 hours. Oh yes, I hate it.
Secretly, of course, I get a sort of perverse pleasure out of it; feeling the strength building in my body, not worrying about numbers on a scale because let’s be honest, I’m never going to be a size 2 but someday I might be able to bench a Cadillac, and really, what’s cooler?
I am not an exercise hater by trade. I actually love working out. I could walk for hours. I’ve done three half marathons doing just that. And when I find a program, I do stick with it because I know it is good for me. I fell off the exercise bandwagon a while back and getting into the routine again reminds me of why I actually do appreciate it and all the benefits it gives me.
Why then am I so down on 80 Day Obsession? I wasn’t able to pinpoint it myself when I started writing this piece. Then my Life Hostage walked in on me doing a Triple-A (arms, abs, ass) workout. Apparently, I was using very choice expletives when speaking to the trainer on screen.
“Wow, you must really hate her.” Oh. There it is.
Autumn, the trainer you love to hate. I don’t know Autumn and it’s not like I’ve ever seen her in real life, only on a screen on a daily basis, coming at me over the Interweb. But her extreme positive platitudes and can do attitude makes me hate her; loathe actually. 40 days in, I’m ready to smack her.
I’m a positive person, right? I mean some of my favorite pieces of advice include phrases like, “the path to inner peace starts with four simple words: not my fucking problem,” or, “if someone doesn’t love the you that you are because you don’t fit in their box show them how to shove the box up there…,” okay, nevermind I get it, not necessarily positive. Got it.
I don’t mean to be negative. I actually do believe pieces of advice like the ones above all have a time and place and at the heart of the matter, they are helpful because they strip away all the fluff. I’m not fluffy – I like to keep it real.
This weekend, we were in the car on the way home from a short road trip and Martina McBride’s song, I Have Been Blessed came on, about as fluffy as you can get, and as I watched the trees whiz by me, I found myself crying.
I’ve heard this song numerous times but what my new chaotic normal has shown me over the past month is how this song applies to me. I am blessed. I think we all are, whether we realize it or not, in some way or another. Too often we take it for granted but when we sit back and look introspectively, it’s there. And it is the positivity inside each and every one of us.
Maybe I’m not quite as negative as I think I am. Maybe Autumn isn’t the devil in a pair of bright blue spandex. And maybe, pigs will fly.