Body Issues
You wouldn’t think that a fit dude like me would have body issues, but I’m about to admit something today. I have massive body issues from time to time. I can work out to avoid a result, or to hide from a fear: a fear of being fat. I’m especially conscious about having a gut. But do you want to know what I fear above all else? I fear being bone skinny. Worse yet, I fear having a gut while being bones everywhere else. And this is why I grind to the mat so hard.
True, I do exercise for the benefits; the real, legitimate benefits. Its these reasons that have increased with time and with my level of maturity. I’ve gotten much stronger, increased my back, leg, and core strength, which in turn has helped to preserve my body through the rigors of a physically demanding job. I’ve bulked up a bit and toned out, and I look the picture of a guy who, if push ever came the shrug and I just needed a job lifting or moving shit, would be hired on the spot. And yes, walking in these hot temperatures in my tank tops do draw the right kind of attention for the lady population (vanity of vanities, I know, but let me be great one time!).
But at the heart of it all; and the reason I began working out in the first place, was to escape my body fears.
Take today. Saturday. Saturday is normally a weightless exercise day. Push ups, pull ups along with core and ab work is on the agenda. I get home from work at around 9am, and Instead of working out on the spot, I flip my TV on to watch Barcelona vs Atletico Madrid in the title decider of the Spanish Primera Division. Planning to work out and watch football, I instead plopped down like a slouch.
“I’ll start working out at halftime,” I said. Halftime came. No push ups commence. The game is intense.
“I’ll get on it after the game,” I said. End of the game came. I scroll twitter for post match reaction. The pull up bar remains lonely and untouched.
Another hour passes, still no workout. Finally, I decide that its not going to happen, hit the showers, and prepare a meal. No workout.
Now here’s where I become conscious: I start checking myself out and seeing if I’m shrinking. Of course I’m checking my stomach to see if its ballooning. A feeling of utter laziness washes over me. I feel like I’ve got to get something done, and I make a contingency plan to get in a few pushes and pulls if I wake up early for work tomorrow.
I never, ever wake up early for work. So scratch that shit.
A check of self became necessary. Despite having a job that can qualify as a workout, I still feel the need to train like a marine just to maintain a level of fitness. In someways its respectable until one question is highlighted: Seriously, what the fuck am I doing all of this for. My own vanity? Or my self preservation? Truth is, the reason varies from mood to mood. It depends on how I feel. Yesterday, when I put my legs through the torture rack? Suffice to say that it was self preservation. Today, it was sheer vanity.
Even the fittest of motherfuckers can have body issues...and probably more than anyone else!
True, I do exercise for the benefits; the real, legitimate benefits. Its these reasons that have increased with time and with my level of maturity. I’ve gotten much stronger, increased my back, leg, and core strength, which in turn has helped to preserve my body through the rigors of a physically demanding job. I’ve bulked up a bit and toned out, and I look the picture of a guy who, if push ever came the shrug and I just needed a job lifting or moving shit, would be hired on the spot. And yes, walking in these hot temperatures in my tank tops do draw the right kind of attention for the lady population (vanity of vanities, I know, but let me be great one time!).
But at the heart of it all; and the reason I began working out in the first place, was to escape my body fears.
Take today. Saturday. Saturday is normally a weightless exercise day. Push ups, pull ups along with core and ab work is on the agenda. I get home from work at around 9am, and Instead of working out on the spot, I flip my TV on to watch Barcelona vs Atletico Madrid in the title decider of the Spanish Primera Division. Planning to work out and watch football, I instead plopped down like a slouch.
“I’ll start working out at halftime,” I said. Halftime came. No push ups commence. The game is intense.
“I’ll get on it after the game,” I said. End of the game came. I scroll twitter for post match reaction. The pull up bar remains lonely and untouched.
Another hour passes, still no workout. Finally, I decide that its not going to happen, hit the showers, and prepare a meal. No workout.
Now here’s where I become conscious: I start checking myself out and seeing if I’m shrinking. Of course I’m checking my stomach to see if its ballooning. A feeling of utter laziness washes over me. I feel like I’ve got to get something done, and I make a contingency plan to get in a few pushes and pulls if I wake up early for work tomorrow.
I never, ever wake up early for work. So scratch that shit.
A check of self became necessary. Despite having a job that can qualify as a workout, I still feel the need to train like a marine just to maintain a level of fitness. In someways its respectable until one question is highlighted: Seriously, what the fuck am I doing all of this for. My own vanity? Or my self preservation? Truth is, the reason varies from mood to mood. It depends on how I feel. Yesterday, when I put my legs through the torture rack? Suffice to say that it was self preservation. Today, it was sheer vanity.
Even the fittest of motherfuckers can have body issues...and probably more than anyone else!
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