Fierce
I hit that spot. I fucking want it. Bad.
It’s been a bit. I say I don’t like cardio… but that’s not really true. I don’t like cardio when I am unfit. And…
This has been a little bit in coming. It’s taken about a week or so to get to the point I am now. A bunch of things swirling in my tiny little brain and all.
I’m lucky, I guess, if that whole set point thing is true. Because I was thin in my younger years, I didn’t start putting on weight till about 20 or so. I wasn’t really big till 25ish. So peeling all that fat off wasn’t as hard for me as it might be for some.
But in a lot of ways, that’s kind of fucked with me too. I doubt anyone looking at me in my younger years would think I weighed too much or I was too fat… but I kinda thought I was.
All this is past now. I’m to the point where ballooning up will not happen to me again. Not even with pregnancy. I’ve fixed what was broken and got me to that point in the first place. So it won’t happen again.
But now there are new challenges to face. I mean, I’m never gonna walk into the doctor’s office and have him tell me a 5′3″ 135 I weigh too much. I may not be perfect, but my BMI (crap such that it is), my bf%, my weight… they’re all within acceptable parameters. I am healthy. No high cholesterol, no high blood pressure, decent resting heart rate (for me, pretty damned awesome for the “average” person). I am healthy…
But… I have lost fitness. And that’s what’s getting to me. I can’t sprint as fast, I can’t lift as much, my resting heartrate is no longer under 40, and I’m generally not where I was. I know I can get there, because I was there before. Not in the long long ago of childhood, but in the not-so-long ago post-fat time.
Part of what’s been keeping me back is simply a lack of believing I can get to my ideal. I’ve been 120 and 17%. I was looking damned good. I was pretty damned fit. But since it wasn’t perfect, since there was still that little flaw, the unperfect tummy, I let it get to me.
Who the fuck cares?
I’ve come to really get the fact that I’ve been dwelling on obstacles, and it’s pulled me off course, and I’ve backslid.
Fuck the body. Don’t get me wrong, I still fucking want it… But I know I’ll get there. I will at least get back to what I was, even if I never get any further. There’s nothing wrong with that.
But really, it’s not just about the body. It’s the fact that I’ve backslid, that I’m not as fit, that I’m getting unfit. That has to stop. Now.
This isn’t about being perfect. That’s part of the problem I have, I tend to not see where I am, just how low I am in relation to those higher than me. With the hotness and the smartness and that sort of thing. (below) I’m just not really able to see where I am in relation to the whole. I am average, as I see myself. But, I am not.
Look the fuck around. At real fucking people. They are not fucking gorgeous built people. They are average. They are not athletes, fit and fine. They are average, sedentary people.
I forgot that I can actually do this. I have done this.
I am not looking for perfection. I am needing a maintanence that is more about simply what I weigh and what I look like. In my current condition, I’m not sure I could fill in for a soccer game. But I was before. So I can be again.
Sometimes the bad is faaar too easy to see. It’s big and scary and annoying and there right in front of you. FUCK IT! Fuck it right in the ear!
I can do this. I have done this. I will do this again. And I will keep doing this, because it’s what is right. It’s what feels good. Sexy and strong and fierce. This pansy-assed pussiness will no longer be tolerated.
And if the time comes and I attain perfection and then lose it because of kids. So be it. I’ll just get it back.