So, I joined a gym. This is not terribly characteristic of me as you may know (I'm one of those people for which running feels like the worst sort of torture and who doesn't believe in this supposed "runners high" that people speak of. Come on runners, just admit it, that's not a thing).
I did it partially because I'm doing a play soon and I want my energy and stamina to be on point (and lets face it i'm also highly motivated by the thought of strangers sitting in a darkened room and staring at me). I also did it partially, and probably more significantly, because this whole year of being utterly out of control of my body has really done a number on me. My body and I are in a bit of a weird place. In some ways I feel more comfortable in my skin than ever because I'm proud of it for emerging from battle and still getting me from place to place on a daily basis. In other ways however, I think, without realizing it, somewhere along the way I lost a certain amount of faith in its ability. I counted on my body to perform what I thought of as a basic human function and it punked out on me. I know those are unfair expectations to put on my little body, but I'd be lying if I said I hadn't internalized some of those negative messages.
Now that the dust has settled and all my medical interventions are for the most part behind me, I am left to look at what parts of me may have atrophied from lack of attention over the last 10 months. There are relationships that could use more nurturing, there are projects that could use energy breathed into them, and there are body parts that could use strengthening. This is something they don't really tell you about miscarriage and infertility (well, to be honest, "they" tell you very little don't they?) : that you will emerge stronger in so many ways, but also emerge with quite a bit of repair work to do in terms of your relationship to yourself. For me, now is the time to take stock of what is left to do and one small step toward that is chugging my butt over to the gym as often as possible. Each time I walk out of there a sweaty mess (which, for me, at this point is the best part of going--the leaving bit), I remind myself that I even though I may not possess the most grace or agility from a physical fitness standpoint, I am more than strong enough to clean up the messes that the Universe left for me.
Muscle memory is a thing. I feel pockets of emotion shake out of me as my legs tremble and old pains and fears sweat out through my pores, but I'm doing my best to stay with it so that in a few months I will be 5'10" and 100 pounds (Just kidding. That actually sounds truly terrifying to me). I'm trying to stay with it because I want to continuously reinforce that my body is capable, is adaptable, is resilient, is enough. I think if that is the energy with which I approach my physical being, then the rest will fall into place as it is meant to. It's worth a try.
I did it partially because I'm doing a play soon and I want my energy and stamina to be on point (and lets face it i'm also highly motivated by the thought of strangers sitting in a darkened room and staring at me). I also did it partially, and probably more significantly, because this whole year of being utterly out of control of my body has really done a number on me. My body and I are in a bit of a weird place. In some ways I feel more comfortable in my skin than ever because I'm proud of it for emerging from battle and still getting me from place to place on a daily basis. In other ways however, I think, without realizing it, somewhere along the way I lost a certain amount of faith in its ability. I counted on my body to perform what I thought of as a basic human function and it punked out on me. I know those are unfair expectations to put on my little body, but I'd be lying if I said I hadn't internalized some of those negative messages.
Now that the dust has settled and all my medical interventions are for the most part behind me, I am left to look at what parts of me may have atrophied from lack of attention over the last 10 months. There are relationships that could use more nurturing, there are projects that could use energy breathed into them, and there are body parts that could use strengthening. This is something they don't really tell you about miscarriage and infertility (well, to be honest, "they" tell you very little don't they?) : that you will emerge stronger in so many ways, but also emerge with quite a bit of repair work to do in terms of your relationship to yourself. For me, now is the time to take stock of what is left to do and one small step toward that is chugging my butt over to the gym as often as possible. Each time I walk out of there a sweaty mess (which, for me, at this point is the best part of going--the leaving bit), I remind myself that I even though I may not possess the most grace or agility from a physical fitness standpoint, I am more than strong enough to clean up the messes that the Universe left for me.
Muscle memory is a thing. I feel pockets of emotion shake out of me as my legs tremble and old pains and fears sweat out through my pores, but I'm doing my best to stay with it so that in a few months I will be 5'10" and 100 pounds (Just kidding. That actually sounds truly terrifying to me). I'm trying to stay with it because I want to continuously reinforce that my body is capable, is adaptable, is resilient, is enough. I think if that is the energy with which I approach my physical being, then the rest will fall into place as it is meant to. It's worth a try.
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