"Holy shit! When did this happen?"
As women sometimes do, I found myself rifling through old pictures within days. Amidst the smiles and musings of days gone by..."Oh my God...I can't believe I thought I looked like a wreck that night....look at me! I was hot! Sporty hot!"
Here's my recommendation: Look through old family albums ~ that is what they're there for. But only do that when you want to go down memory lane with someone for the purpose of sharing, laughing, and storytelling. You and your glass of Mad Housewife do not count as a "with someone" pair. That's called drinking alone, crying.
In college I was an athlete. I had one forte, and that was bench pressing. As far as I know, I still hold the unofficial world record for the lightweight female bench press. I'd qualified in New York City. Unfortunately it is unofficial internationally due to the fact that in those days (1992 Barcelona Spain Paralympic Games), bench press had to be a cross-sport qualifier for Lady Raspberries. I would have had to also be qualified in swimming or wheelchair track.
Can we talk about wheelchair track?
I was so intimidating at the starting line. The other racers would cringe when they saw my weight lifter arms and tiny frame. And then the gun would go off. And my hair would whoosh from the brisk breeze generated by the other racers as they shot away. I looked like a turtle startled by the noise. I had zero...zero...technique.
Oh, God. While we're at it, I may as well give a brief nod to wheelchair basketball and say this much....I made one basket in my painfully short college basketball career. It was for the other team and my team was pissed. It didn't help that I was known to be the one singing to my pick/screen hoping to disorient them since my physical size compared to theirs was laughable.
My point is...I was athletic. Maybe not gifted or entirely inclined, but I was very physically active, and it showed. So naturally, huffing, out of breath from loading a freaking TiLite into a Smart Car was absolutely unacceptable. But it served a purpose because life is about lessons and experiences.
I took stock of where I was, and where I'd been, and with a grimace, booked a check-up with our doctor. As many Raspberries will tell you, when one does not need to go to the doctor, one doesn't. Most of us have spent far more time in hospital, in waiting rooms, in surgery, in recovery, and everything that lies between than we care to admit or even talk about.
Following a four month delayed reaction to the appointment, I started getting a little help from my new friends B12, time-release Iron, and Folic Acid (I am a Spina Bifida Raspberry). And then I started to party with free weights, an ab roller, and an 80's MTV Party To Go CD, meant only for home.
The good news is that I am already feeling its positive effects. I have more energy, I'm thinking more clearly, my muscles are wonderfully sore, and I'm sitting much prettier ~ according to my husband.
Even though it took being taken down to the mat by a light weight chair and a wine infused trip along memory lane to reach the realization that I could do better by me, I am of course glad reality hit home.
We sweet Lady-Raspberries have our place of honor and privilege in this world, you know. The world is not monochromatic. It wants flavor, diversity, contributions, variety, contrast, and patterns that ultimately work well together.
So, this Raspberry is in it to win it for herself. The fitness, the energy, the style. I want all of the ingredients thrown into the blender of life, whipped into a frothy frenzy of joy, health, freedom, and life.