This morning I hit the gym for the first time in a couple of weeks. I'd been busy and as a result I had been tired and as a result had felt depressed and as a result had been feeling like shit about not working out...you can see the wicked cycle.
My partner has been going to this super hardcore trainer and rocking it out. This is one of those 'change your life' kind of trainers and their workouts don't mess around. Several of our friends also go to this trainer, so inevitably when we are together, the conversation eventually drifts to who is working out when, how they are working out and, perhaps more interestingly, WHY they are working out: "I'm really trying to drop some weight" or "I really need to increase my endurance", "I need to get in shape before a big race" or "I need to build up some muscle", you get the picture. Every time these conversations happen, I find that I am asking myself the same question. Why, after spending my mid-twenties avoiding the gym like the plague is it now so linked into my physical and mental well being. Why do I get up and go?
Well, first off, 3 of your family members dying of heart issues can scare the hell out of a person (especially when 2 of them were young, 32 and 55). But there's something else. There's the need to feel athletic again, this need to feel fit, feel light. I want to increase my cardio and I want to build muscle (Michelle Obama arms here I come!) But the more I think about it, it all links back to one thing: I want to feel strong.
A couple of weeks ago my partner took me to the gym and showed me a workout with the boxing gloves and big bag. As I was whaling on the bag and moving around in circles, it clicked. I wanted to feel strong yes. But I wanted to feel strong because I wanted to be able to fight.
Because I want to be able to fight them off.
When I was younger, I was an athlete. I played basketball, ran track for a bit (I was horrible at that), and played on 3 different softball teams at one time. There wasn't a sport we tried out in gym class that I wasn't at least pretty good at. In a way, being an athlete did make me feel strong, feel tough. But then, as I would often do, I would wrestle around with my older brother. Even though I spent my after school hours diving in the outfield and running "suicides" and he had very little interest in anything athletic the script was the same: He would start picking on me, I would try to ignore him, he would pop me in the arm, I would try and get him back and within 4 seconds he was holding both of my arms down while he gave me the worst charlie horse in the world.
I remember this feeling very clearly. Whenever he would render me immovable I would get angry, rageful and very scared. The immense vulnerability was a terrifying thing. It wasn't that I was afraid of my brother per se. Aside from the charlie horses and the noogies he never actually hurt me and most times he was my fiercest ally, my best protector. I was scared of the feeling of feeling weak. Scared that even with everything I knew, even with the good shape I was in, I couldn't fight him off. I hated hated hated that feeling.
I hated it so much that I found myself almost picking fights with boys I was stronger then at school. I made friends with a robust, stocky kid named Jason who played football in the city leagues and whenever my mouth would get into trouble, I would hide behind him and swing my arms. Scrappy Do.
We used to have this game that was played everyday on the playground. Kind of like rugby with a soccer ball. I played with the boys but always went for George Cipola. George was small and although well liked, was not in the "popular" crowd. The day I ran right for him and pushed him in the mud, Jason pulled me off the field: "Why are you always picking fights with these guys? You're small, you'll get in trouble"
I didn't know it then, because of course I was picking fights to feel like I had some control, to deal with the then unrecognizable feeling of being "less than" To fit in. Some where. with some body.
Eventually my brother started hanging out with guys who thought it was a riot to pick on me when they came over. Usually it was verbal taunts, but I hated them. Hated how little they made me feel, how powerless, and yes, in my 11 year old brain, I hated how much they made me aware that I was "just a girl"
Usually I just tried to combat them with a witty comment or by ignoring them, but one day I had enough. I don't remember how old I was maybe 11 or 12. Matt (my brother) had this friend Jeff who he used to talk about as being "F'ed up" He was one of those destructive kids, always breaking things, smashing butterflies, torturing stray animals. Once, he told my brother about killing a kitten in a microwave. I was terrified of Jeff and terrified for my cat who I was inseparable from. One day he threatened my cat. He was doing it to get a rise out of me, I'm sure but something kicked in. Something that I now understand as a woman as that "plus 1" instinct. Pick on me, fine. But pick on something I had seen born, I raised and I took care of everyday? Too far.
Jeff started toward my bedroom "after" my cat. Without thinking I pulled my fist back and punched him. hard. right in that soft spot above his belly. He fell to the ground gasping for air. I had knocked the wind out of him. As he tried to catch his breath, Matt, who had been watching from the kitchen, came in and laughed "that's what you get man"
I. felt. awesome. I had defended myself, my cat and I had taken him down.
As an adult, I don't feel that confidence. I know the stakes are much higher now. I know defending myself or someone I love could cost me my life but it's something I think about all the time. I love to take my partner out to this amazing dam in ann arbor. It's best at night, but to get to it you have to walk through the woods and under this bridge. I load my pockets with the mace, the pocket knife and carry the heavy flashlight and still I cling to her. She...she is not afraid. I am jealous of that. I am jealous of not being afraid.
I want to learn to fight. I don't think I will ever stop being afraid but I don't think stand being that 10 year old girl swinging my arms and legs as my brother holds me down with 1 hand.
For now, I'm going to buy some gloves so I can whale at the punching bag at the gym so if he gets close I can at least stun him. I will run the treadmill so I can get away faster, I will lift the weights so I can resist. I will work so I can fight.
One day, I hope I can stop training to fight him off. One day, I hope my strength will be something just for me.
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