Sunday, February 03, 2008

Bathtime.

My desk sits right next to the study window. This evening, since I made the mistake of wearing only thongs (flipflops) instead of my usual warm socks and shoes, I got chilled. The wonky shower head we have was spraying in its halfhearted way, so I wasn't warming up very much. Off went the shower, in went the plug and down I sat in the tub.

Ahhhh! Nice and toasty. Did I mention relaxing?

Even the rhythmical thump-thumpthump-thump of Alaskaboy's feet on the aerobic step echoing down the hallway soothed me. But, if I was so fine and dandy, why was I feeling lightheaded? Sitting up a little higher didn't help. Nor did having a glass of cold water. That meant I was warm, but not overheating. And then down the hallway came the line. "Are you having fun yet? I know you've been having fun all along."

Then I was having a crying jag. The kind where your eyes are scrunched tight, your mouth is wide open and yet an eeueueeueueeh noise only comes out every other sob or so. I cried so hard I thought I was either going to pass out, or vomit. Neither of which is a good option when you're in a tub full to the brim.

The jealousy and anger transfixed me to the bottom of the tub like a butterfly pinned to a board. I wanted to lash out at something, anything, but I couldn't move under the onslaught of what I was feeling. Most of all, I wanted to be out there with Alaskaboy, doing aerobics.

Who's gonna be my Kathe to encourage me in my exercise? Stars on a chart are well and dandy...but Kathe is so perky and encouraging! What's the fun in trudging along one foot in front of another on boring walks? How can I get my muscles and fitness back? Why is this recovery process taking so long? Where's my confidence gone?

It wasn't until this evening that I truly realised how much my view of myself included my strong muscles and athletic ability. I acknowledged just how much I've been hating myself now that I'm weaker than I've ever been before. I hate being a girly girl. I want to be out there pumping iron and watching/feeling my muscles grow. I feel soft. Soft and flabby and unfit. My body isn't my own anymore and I hate that feeling.

After I stopped crying and calmed down a little, my nurturing side smacked me in the head and said, "wake up to yourself." Just the other day you'd been all excited that you were able to quickly trot down the stairs. Something you haven't been able to do in a long time.

My negative side scoffed at that achievement. Stairs? Pah! Remember when you helped move the queen-sized bed and heavy dresser into the house? And on the holiday you couldn't even carry your two year old niece more than fifteen metres up the beach before handing her off to her father.

Positive me was quick with a riposte. Oh yeah? Remember when I couldn't even lift a frying pan without using two hands or go from the bed to the loungeroom without stopping or had to use the lift because I couldn't even get down the short stairs? And you're knockin' that I carried a 12 kg child 15 metres on soft, dry sand--AFTER walking down to the beach in the first place, then along it, and back and forth to the water several times from where we sat. Need I go on?

Yeah, but--

But, nothing! Stop being so negative about everything!

{whines} But, I coulda been soooo fit and strong and healthy by now! I coulda been using the full on step AND going bike riding and all that fun stuff we'd planned for this year.

{positive side thinks for a little minute} Would you have done half as well with you internal work if you were still completely focused on the outer fitness?

Ummm...I don't know.

Then how about you shut the fuck up?

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