I’m not that fragile
Some days, I’m not that fragile. I’m tough.
Other days, I know better, but I struggle. I’m not one for pity-parties. But sometimes, you know, damn, it’s hard.
Pity-parties always make things worse. I end up mad at myself for allowing negative feelings into my thoughts. So mad that I force myself to start listening to annoying positive attitude audio-books, rolling my eyes the whole time, only to find out after a few days that they actually did help.
This has been my cycle ever since the break. The break that eventually led to the break up.
Time has passed and I am starting to feel like myself again. All that forced positive energy has paid off. I have actually been willing good things to come to me. I know this sounds a little hokey, but I believe I have! Work has been going great. I love what I do. I have the best clientele a business owner could ever ask for and recent momentum has become thank-the-lord contagious.
Outside of work I’ve picked up a new hobby, or rather, a new hobby picked me up.
It’s really a funny story. I was working out at the gym when an incredibly fit older man approached me. The first thing he told me, after getting me to take out my ear buds, was that he was not hitting on me, that he was 65 and knew he didn’t stand a chance, but just had to ask if I’ve ever considered bodybuilding. Of course my answer was a mystified “um, no.” But I continued to hear him out.
I am now in my third week of training.
I’m no stranger to the gym. I dated a personal trainer for two years, but I have never been this sore in my life! There is a huge difference between working out and training for a competition. I work out four times a week with the man I lovingly call Coach. He pushes me, encourages me, mentors me, and has become my over-protective gym dad. He is constantly telling me that every man in the place is not good enough and what his version of good enough looks like.
He cracks me up.
My first competition will most likely be sometime late this fall where I will be entering into a figure (not bodybuilding) competition. Coach is convinced I will be ready by then if I continue to train as hard as I have been.
It’s crazy, but this training, these aching muscles all over my body, it has all contributed to making me feel alive again. I can’t raise my arms all the way above my head, and sometimes I look like a zombie when I walk because of stiff muscles, but I have never felt so tough.
I’ve realized that it’s not just sometimes that I’m not that fragile, I am always not that fragile.
My sister Staci posted this on my Facebook wall.
Right now, I finally believe it.