After two full days of just indulging and not getting much accomplished, I had to go help my mom with a project tonight. In the process, I decided to work out. I did interval training on the treadmill which seems to turn on some magic button in my body and makes me start to sweat. The first couple of times I did this interval training I felt the weirdest sensation in my body in the middle of the intervals. I felt like I had hit some secret signal in my cells and these toxins and this chemical goo just gushed out of my pores. It was the weirdest, deep burning sensation. And it kind of kicked me into high gear. I don't know if it was part endorphin rush or just some other chemical/biological high but I love it. The interval training totally kicks my butt right now and I LOVE IT.
Tonight, I just wanted to pound my body. I wanted to work myself into the ground. I wanted to sweat and stride and push and work and love it. I'm sure if I had a trainer like Jillian or Bob tonight that I would not have even minded puking a bit (okay, I would have minded, but I would have at least wanted it). Of course, I don't get myself anywhere near to puking. I was only on the treadmill for 40 minutes and then I did pushups and crunches and a bunch of stretching but in the end my body felt worked in a really good way.
I want it to feel strong and hard and good. I'm falling a bit in love with sweating. I love the power that comes from working hard. I love the way my whole body kind of vibrates. I especially love the way I feel a day or two or a week later. Suddenly, I wake up one day stronger. Faster. Brighter. Harder. I love that feeling.
I've been scared of my body for years. She and I have been mortal enemies rather than friends. Sure we have had brief flirtations. Times where we've skirted the issues and tried to get to know one another. Times when I felt like if I could just white knuckle her down that she would finally submit to my wishes, but in the end, the body always seemed to win. Her will won the day. Her desires, her wants, her needs. And mostly what she wanted was to be left alone. Allowed to eat. Unmoved by strength or determination or even passion.
That is until I discovered her passion. Her will. Her strength. When her muscles are taut and strong, her core hard and resilient, her limbs coursing with oxygenated blood, she suddenly will bend to my will, my determination, my passion. Her needs and wants seems satiated when she feels the power that comes from her own strength. Then her strength becomes my strength and we are one. Friends, not mortal enemies. As long as I slake her need and turn on her fire, she will bend to my will. Her way, then my way.
When I was in junior high we were supposed to run a mile in gym class. Every year. And every year, I was one of those girls who could not complete the mile, who ended up walking my way across the finish line. My body betrayed me then. She was not a friend that I could count on or one that I could trust. She hurt and ached and wished to not move. And the whole physical side of life scared me because of the pain my body felt when I tried to move her out of her comfort zone.
Today, I wish that somehow, some way I had learned even then how to turn her on. How to reach down deep and find her fire and and learn to sweat. How to love the feeling of burning lungs and and screaming muscles that ached for more. For there is magic in that place. Magic that I don't want to let go of ever again. Magic that made me and my body friends.
I believe in magic. Thank you body for teaching me that. I finally believe.
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