scribblechic

I am not athletic.  In my mind athletic women are fearless, confident, unabashed and in control.  I am none of these.

My first true commitment to fitness was written on my heart.  When my daughter was an infant I realized old ghosts of insecurity haunted my body.  I wanted to create a stronger, more capable example for my daughter to learn from.  Diets, medicating myself with food, and body shame were concepts I endeavored to face honestly and overcome.  Old tapes of “not good enough” needed to be unwound and burned.

I began by learning how to eat.  I remember the embarrassment that followed me to my first Weight Watchers meeting.  The chairs felt like blinking banners highlighting my failure publicly.  I decided to own my failure and create an opportunity for success.  I kept my meetings faithfully and embraced a simple truth: I was an adult without any true understanding of what I was eating.  With each success I felt stronger.  Still each set back brought the taunting voices of criticism.  When my body plateaued over balanced meals I turned to a new challenge.

My first trip to the gym I thought I would hyperventilate at the threshold of the fitness room; my athletic shoes heavy with the truth of my fear of public failure.  Determined to meet my new challenge empowered by the concept of ownership I silently invited strangers to become my witnesses on this new journey.  Individual efforts on isolated pieces of equipment crescendoed into a place in a classroom community, sweating and struggling together among my witnesses.  I became proud of my body and I respected my newfound strength with every new challenge.

I have slipped out of practice these past two years.  Excuses replaced effort and my spirit has been heavy for the loss.  I am slowly working to substitute public commitment with private endeavors; creating space and time within the walls of my home for fitness.  My new challenge is to honor my truth and commit to my fitness needs as my own witness.

Tagged: Fitness, Health, Weight