Keeping the Junk in the Trunk.
A DISCLAIMER TO THIS POST:
There's a world of difference between self-awareness and self-absorption.
— John Ortberg (@johnortberg) January 31, 2014
Loved this tweet from John Ortberg, but the post that follows falls squarely in the self-absorption camp.
What can I say?
Sometimes even the most self-aware are self-absorbed.
So if you’re not into silly belly-button gazing, you might better move along.
"If you don't challenge yourself, you'll never change yourself." Words from my trainer today. And then my arms fell off.
— Jamie Miles (@SouthMainMuse) February 3, 2014
“It you don’t challenge yourself, you’ll never change yourself.”
My sassy, kick-A trainer looked into my slumped defeated self and said those very inspiring words.
This was after she had just told me to do something horrifically impossible.
I can’t recall if it was 1,000,000 uber burpees or 10 pull-ups but whatever it was — the thought of my body even attempting such — sapped my mind of strength faster than the only keg at a frat party runs dry.
Yes. I have a trainer.
That doesn’t mean I’m some bored, vain Real Housewife of Beverlee (Well, only partly).
The truth is that’s what I asked for my 50th birthday present. A visit to my trainer twice a week.
So I’ve been doing that since July and pooh.
My body is still that of a realistically in shape 50.5 year old.
Why, oh why she says as she throws her somewhat wrinkling body prostrate on a slightly sticky yoga mats while trying to ignore the roll that formed as her body bends into a deflating C.
I could blame my shape on my knee. I can’t run six days a week anymore.
I could moan and groan about how much I hate spending anytime on the elliptical.
I could rail and shake my clinched fists at the wind and temps that seem to stay below 55 degrees — and keep me off my bike.
But honestly. I’m just tired and I feel old.
When I told my trainer the “I feel old” part, she stared at me saying, “How then am I supposed to feel?’
This is the problem with having a trainer chronologically older than you.
It doesn’t matter that she looks half her age. You can’t begin to throw an old age pity party with her.
Pooh. Pooh. And double pooh.
This was me earlier today. Taking shot of my backside in the mirror because you can’t contort a body around while on the elliptical and properly see how much junk is hanging in the 50-year-old trunk.
Okay. Call me vain. Call me crazy. But tell me you haven’t done the same?
Maybe not at the gym.
But you’ve photographed your backside somewhere.
Cell phones allow a check of the rear in the pants sooooo much easier than trying to get just the right angle of holding up a mirror and looking at your reflection.
Come on sister. Any woman born before 1990 knows exactly what I mean.
I’m not proud of this. Not because it makes me look vain — well, mostly not.
More that it makes me look like I care about my looks — and strong, accomplished, feminist-ish woman don’t clutter their minds with such foolishness.
So let’s just keep this little secret between you and me.
This post really doesn’t have a tidy resolution.
Statements that we would never think of sharing in a Facebook status can’t be wrapped in brown paper and cinched up with a twine bow.
My little trots on the elliptical probably won’t change me.
And honestly not sure I’m up for taking on any challenges this afternoon.
No races. No weights. No Mount Everests calling.
Maybe that challenge is to change my mindset?
Talk about a Mount Everest.
Will see how I feel this time next month.
Or at least till I spy the first daffodil. 🙂
Any challenges for change going on in your life?
