This is not about the perfect body.

At least, when it comes to looks.

This is about being able to run a mile. (did I say that?) About playing a better game of tennis. About shoulders that don’t suck and benching more than I weigh. About balancing one legged on a 4-pound medicine ball. About being able to do a full split — both kinds. About balancing 1-legged on a medicine ball while doing a full split. About handstands and jump ropes and pullup bars. About sprinting faster, lifting more, and difficult-looking sex positions.

This isn’t about a beautiful body, it’s about a fit one.

One can only control what one’s body looks like to a point, the rest is out of our hands. So why the fuck bother? I can always improve my game, add 5 pounds to a lift, shave a couple seconds off that mile time. Most people have a long-assed way to go before they reach their potential max in these things, and I am certainly no different.

I do not have a body to look pretty. I have a body to be functional. To move and work and play, not to sit there and look good. Substance trumps style.

I have said on many occations that what one looks like doesn’t matter. Who cares if a girl is 250? If she’s healthy, can bench more than an average guy, and run like the wind… fuck it. And I really do believe that. Yet when it comes to me, I have not actually put that into practice. I have sacrificed performance countless times in persuit of something that may or may not ever come to pass: The Perfect Body.

I do not need to look good naked. I have a wonderful husband who loved me when I was 200 pounds and 38% bodyfat. So it’s not like I need to worry about whether I’m 140 & 22% or 120 & 17%.

I cannot control what I end up looking like. Flat tummy, loose skin, shoe size or boobsize. I can control how well my body can perform.

For once, I can honestly say that I don’t really give a shit what that scale says anymore. All I’m doing to change that is eat a bit under maintanence. Everything else I’m doing… everything… is to be more fit, to perform better. If my body ends up looking like how I’d like it to… so be it. I won’t complain. But it is not my motivation. It is not the reason I’m doing this. I’m doing this for a much better reason.

…To constantly be able to beat Otto up the stairs. Because winning is everything.

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