Tuesday, March 27, 2012

Resuscitating My Machine


I think I almost did myself in, you guys.

I almost wallowed in caffeine, lost sleep, and skinny fat for too long.   I almost forgot that I was a machine.

Most of the time we walk around feeling like ghost bodies encased in a big fat fuzzy cloud brain instead of hard bodies controlled by an acute thought of precise action.

(Or maybe that was just me in my Starbucks haze.)

The last month and a half in the gym have reminded me I am first a system of movable parts, second the brain that guides it.

Since having babies my hamstrings and quadriceps have been tossed to the curb left for dead.  Let's not even talk about biceps or stomach muscles.  Not only were those left for dead they were found by turkey vultures, picked to smithereens by time and most definitely Easter candy.

Bathing suit weather has made me hyperventilate for years.

But this year? I'm taking my body back.

Along with weights, cardio, and even the occasional medicine ball to bring back my machine, I am no longer able to go without a meal.   

Fat must not get that hungry but muscle?  Holy cow is that stuff made of the munchies.  But not Cheetos and brownie dough munchies.  Muscle wants raw vegetables, cottage cheese with peaches and lately a whole lot of broccoli and chicken.  Muscle is a sixteen year old just home from basketball practice, raiding the fridge.

The best byproduct won't be getting to wear a bathing suit without that little skirt bottom this summer.  It is the fact I can think like my old self without cobwebs of fractured ideas to murk up connectors and receivers.  So many times I started conversations and abandoned them willingly because the effort was greater than the result.  My social self was mired in fatigue and Pop Tart crumbs.

My physical body could hardly will itself off my own driveway as my sharks children circled and begged to go to the park.

My machine needed serious attention and for the first time in a very long time, I'm beginning to feel like myself again.

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