i am lotus

When sloth and apathy has set in for months, it’s hard to get your ass moving again.  And even once you’ve passed the hurdle of actually making yourself START moving with effort once more, you face that initial battle of trying to stop screaming out in pain and agony at every little leg lift find your strength again.

Exercise takes strength.  And strength is built via exercise.  Chicken. Egg.  Circle, circle, circle.

So when you’re trying to get back on track with a healthy lifestyle, you have to force yourself through that beginning time, when the shit is HARD.  And you have to keep going until you can hack it.

And sometimes it’s hard, in the middle of a workout, to feel confident that you can do that.  Especially when all you want to do is power jumps on the instructor’s face.  What?  I am NOT full of anger and bitterness, and if you even hint that I am, I will eat your face. (I’m sure it’s full of lean protein.)

What I really love is when a workout instructor is saying some shit to me like, “You should be feeling some heat in your thighs now… almost a little burn!“  right around the time when I’m looking down in bewilderment because my left thigh literally just exploded and peppered the wall next to me with clots of flesh and my right thigh currently has a 4 foot flame shooting from it.  And my ass just sent me a memo that said, “Really?  You’re serious?  Just checking.  Because… really???”

Yeah.  Almost a little burn.

Whore.

Look, lady… did you forget what it was like when you were fat?  Before you became this little waif of a thing that is now cheerfully telling me to, “see if you can push it just a little bit deeper each time!”

Oh, I am, cutie-pie, I am.  I’m pushing the imaginary knife blade just a little bit deeper into your upper torso (can you feel the BURN!?) every time I stab you with it inside my head.

Maybe she was never fat.  Maybe she has always been so skinny that her nipples existed on her chest completely independent of the titty base they are generally known to reside on in females. (And no, I have nothing against boobies of any size, but just let me rant here, ok?)

I’m sorry, I just can’t not see them.  In that tight-ass yoga top they are like little rocket missiles under a tight stretched tarp and I’m hearing the countdown in my head at full volume.  They are moments from firing and I don’t want to get hit, okay?  Someone needs to deactivate the launch sequence.  Who readies missiles that are still in storage anyway?

Where the hell is Jack Bauer when you really need him?

Clearly, she is excited about the burn.

I’m excited about making it through this without dying.  Which I’m not entirely sure yet is going to be happening, but I like to delude myself like that.

Wait.  What did she just say to me?  “Really challenge yourself.”  Were you not here just now when I said I was going to try to make it through this alive, woman? Clearly you do not understand that is a challenge in and of itself.

Shit, it is a challenge for me not to come over and take a bite out of your ass cheek.  I haven’t had a burger in weeks.

And if she says, “for an extra challenge…” one more time, I think I might just choke on all the cuss words that want to fly out of my mouth because YEAH.  Really, trust me, I don’t need anything extra at this point.

Unless it’s pickles.  On the ass burger I’m about to take from you.

And still, I’m doing this.  And I want to do this (hahaha) and I am going to do it again.  Because I know that over time it will get easier and I will hate her less and less.

Wait, she just said, “I don’t know about you but I’m really starting to feel my legs!”

*insert mental image of me SHITTING MYSELF I’M LAUGHING SO HARD*

If I could FEEL them anymore, I’d actually be able to “control it” like you keep telling me to do and then I wouldn’t be shaking, and tripping over my own two feet every five seconds, woman.  But thanks for letting me know that YOU can feel YOUR legs.  I am so proud of you.  You are doing great!  Soon you’ll be even MORE sexy and attractive than you already are!  And then there can be an even greater, more stark contrast between the two of us.

Really, the hilt of the knife couldn’t go any deeper.  I need to invest in an imaginary pitch fork or something.  Axe?  Hm.

And if you’re disturbed by this?  Me having immature, malicious thoughts towards my workout instructors is really nothing new.  See here.  While this makes things no less disturbing, at least you can see that I am consistently whacked out.

Oh, but now she’s saying something that makes me love her.  A lot.  (And it wasn’t, “Would you like ab fries with that ass burger?”)

“Last one.”

Okay, Miss Itty Bitty Everything.  I think I can forgive you.

But right now I need to go see what I can do about my right eyebrow.  That four foot flame really took me by surprise.