July 17, 2012

...5-6-7-8

My dad was a gymnast in high school and college, so I don't have any questions about why I was plopped into a kinder-kids tumbling class at the age of three. By the age of eight I had a back handspring and by the age of eleven I could do tumbling passes with a back tuck. I was a tiny, solid human muscle. By twelve, I was a cheering tiny, solid human muscle. I'd never worked out at a gym before and didn't even know what an elliptical was, and didn't really need to. Any time I wanted to whip out a flip to show off on the beach or climb up a vine in the middle of the woods, I could on the spot. No preparation needed. No thought involved. It was easy.



Even throughout high school, I stayed the same. The corset-like back brace I had to wear in ninth grade for scoliosis still fit me when I graduated. In college, I laughed in the face of the freshman fifteen and chuckled at the sophomore seven (I think I made that one up but I needed the alliteration).

By junior year, ohhh by junior year, I hadn't worked out since high school cheerleading ended in spring of 2009, barring a bit of bi-weekly yoga and walks to class or the dining hall. Those so count. Kind of. Add yet another year to this lack of physical activity and my body is currently screaming at me for neglect. I can't even do a back kick over. I learned that skill when I was probably four.

I'm not appalled with the way my body looks, the slight additions I've witnessed on my leg and arm width don't majorly bother me. My clothes still fit and I don't think anything has satisfied me as much as crop tops have this summer. I go skinny dipping during the suns peak hours for all to see, have sex on top with the lights on, and don't engage is beerexia (most of the time...). The problems I DO seem to be running into are swimming during the dips without feeling like my lungs are going to fall out, sexing without making him do all the work, and avoiding snacks because "2am isn't THAT late..."

I'm really bad at working out. I don't get a thrill from it and I abhor sweating unless I'm sitting on a beach and can run into the ocean once I get too hot. The only kinds of exercise I've ever known involve a thousand dollar spring mat and two different types of trampolines or high v's in dance routines and four girls lifting me in the air as I force a smile for the crowd. I guess that's been my excuse all this time– that I can't reenact that. It never actually FELT like I was exercising. I was simply throwing my limbs around and cheering for a team even though I really didn't care about the outcome of the game.

But I don't like how my body feels. I am weak. I can't climb ropes anymore and I can't whip into a long tumble pass just because I feel like it. This is all my fault and I need to stop bitching about everything not being the same. Shit changes and sure, I can't exercise the way I used to, sure I'm not performing in front of a cheering crowd when I do it, and sure I can't come home from gymnastics and tell my dad about the newest tumbling pass I mastered. It's about learning something new. Biking. Running. More dancing. Struggling through boring push ups. Mastering the beauty of feeling your muscles move and indulging in the sweat that comes along with it. I want to feel that. I will feel that.

Here's to finding out what a single serving of pasta is and how sore I'm going to be tomorrow morning!

*Clink*

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July 10, 2012

light the night


The blue light on our pals porch makes for some killer photos. I've started to enjoy the blurry aspect, so now I can blame how they all turn out on that instead of the car bombs and pbr... Welcome to summer in Athens, folks. Drinking and reading, reading and drinking.







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