Tuesday, October 16, 2012

Keeping Up Appearances

After high school, I applied to a few colleges for Theatre Arts.  I have a history of being a middle-child-people-pleaser with a knack for the dramatic - so it seemed like a pretty good fit.

And though my choices (and theirs) lead me to pursue other dreams, I have continued to masquerade.

I have this room, decked out with a treadmill and a total gym, a stability ball and weights, DVDs of popular workouts, and a classic Jane Fonda VHS.

Every wall is dotted by motivational pictures and quotes, and a there is a calendar (ironically, a Pillsbury Bake-off calendar) to log my workouts.

I have completed a half marathon (2 years ago), I have subscriptions to a handful of running newsletters, and I can talk the talk of running lingo (fartlek, anyone?).

I have goals to reach and a neatly typed list with a ton of reasons recounting the numerous mental, emotional, and physical benefits of exercise.

I have performance clothing, sweat-wicking wear, rockin' playlists, and great shoes.

And yet the room sits untouched - sometimes for months at a time.

I know there is an athlete inside of me, but every time I hear her, I tune her out with TV and shut her up with cookies.

For all intents and purposes, I am sitting in my garage, covered in steel and holding a rear-view mirror, making "vroom-vrooom" noises trying to convince myself and everybody else that I am a car. I am not a car.

The inner workings - the drive (pun completely intended), the passion, the activity, the motor - have me stalled.

To have a car without a motor is to be without a vehicle.

I have tried, to no avail, to figure out what stops me from exercising.  Though I have often said that I fear failure,  I can't struggle with failure because my inactivity guarantees it. More likely, it is a fear of trying really hard and falling flat on my face. I cope alright with failure when I have decided not to try (it becomes a technicality) - but the vulnerability required for wanting something so badly and pursuing it with reckless abandon with the possibility of absolute and utter failure has never seemed appealing.  But I am tired of all this.

I can go around and around trying to analyze why I do what I do.  I can hash out memories, dig out old wounds, talk about self-sabotage or why I have a hard time accepting myself as I am, or try to figure out "why the color yellow makes me sad" (there is a time a place for that).  Or I can just do it and figure out life on the journey.

So here's to not over thinking life.  Knowledge does not bring change, wisdom does. Even if I know why I do something that frustrates my goals, that knowledge does not bring change. Changing does.

So with the words of the great Yoda behind me, I will exercise, "Do or do not, there is no try".

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