I have been having a hard time, yet again, writing about my eating habits. At first I thought about writing on my experience in a Mexican kitchen because of the cultural influence that the kitchen has had on me. However, I decided against it as Susan beat me to it. Maybe someday I will come back to this as my experience as a Mexican would be different to her WASP upbringing (her words not mine). Then I spent another week wondering about my eating habits because I had just started another challenge at NerdFitness. If you have never heard of NerdFitness then you are definitely missing out. Unfortunately, or I guess, fortunately, for me all that was thrown out because of what happened yesterday. This post is forthe people who try to break me, who I have allow inside my head and make me question who I am. This post is for those whose negative comments and thoughts about me that try to fuck me up.
Yesterday I did and completed my first 300 challenge. The 300 Workout Challenge is an exhausting, nonstop 300-rep workout with no rest between exercises. It is not for the timid, unfit or faint of heart. The goal is to finish the workout as quickly as possible. I passed the first 200 push-ups and squats with little reserve. It hurt my body but I was okay with that. But then I got to the planks and began crumbling from exhaustion While finishing the last ten seconds of a plank, this guy who was randomly walking around the park with his girlfriend pointed at me and said, “Hey look at that hog.” Really?! Did that seriously happen? I finished my last ten seconds but instead of feeling proud or accomplished I felt the pangs of insecurity just rush through my body and take over. I wanted to cry, scream at that random stranger but I didn’t. I just shut down while my trainer congratulated me. I was in another world trying to regain whatever little composure I had. I had bruised knees, shins, and elbows; eventually all these will heal in time. However, what this man did to me is something that I will carry. I carry it because in part I believe that the wounds will remain. It is my mind, protecting my sanity by covering the wounds with scar tissue, lessening the pain, but it is never gone.
On my way home, I held back the tears. I do this often as I don’t see the point in crying. It doesn’t make anything better. When I cry I become frustrated because I hate being such a weak person. Again, I have let someone’s life or thoughts affect me and here I am crying wallowing in self-pity. By crying I am giving them power over me. I refuse to give people power, especially when it comes to my mental state. I have an illogical system set up when it comes to me crying. I equate everything to my pregnancy. If my situation or problem is not as bad as what I went through with that pregnancy then it doesn’t deserve a tear. My pregnancy was a freak of nature. It was out of everyone’s hands and had to do with biology so in a sense I can cry without being regarded as weak. And yet, I do not cry.
I tried to be logical this time but I couldn’t cry. I understood that I was in pain but I refocused my pain and suffered turning it to sheer frustration. Why was I working on getting fit? Why was I working on getting healthier? Why can’t I just be happy being hidden away from the world eating my lovely numbered combos from the various fast food places. Why am I putting my body through so much pain? The answer is simple. I want to join the FBI. I need to be able to pass that
damn physical exam. However, being part of the FBI means having to protect this country. I began to question if I could do this, especially since I was pissed off. Can I really in a sense “protect and serve” everyone? Because if the asshole who called me a hog was in danger I’d probably be like, sucks to be you, and walk away. In fact I pictured myself being Yzma from The Emperor’s New Groove and enacting my revenge!
I keep questioning myself, is the FBI really the right fit? This goes back to who do I think I am? Can I do this? Can I protect the “bad ones”? As much as I want to say no I can’t, I think in an event of a disaster, I would “have” to help all those that I could. I wouldn’t be able to sit back and feel right with myself. And that sucks. I am naturally inclined to do the best that a good person can do. I am devoted to helping others because I value life and freedom above all else
, except for maybe Mickey Mouse. I have trust in myself.
So here is to you, random stranger who called me a hog. I am choosing to pick myself up after your hateful words. As Christopher reminded me, “I am strong and I am beautiful. I will power-clean more than you ever will.” Someday I will have to pick your sorry arse up.