I joined the gym.
Just like that, way more than I wanted to spend and never sure if I’m on another whim, I’m in.
In this cult of the body we live it’s hard not to get carried along by the popular obsession with tight thighs and a tidy waist. It’s all about being driven, focussed, creating the life you want, being who you want to be. To summon up such drive feels like a violation to my Carmelite sensibilities so I have generally settled for gentler ways to move my body.
But now I’m in. Locked in and once I’ve paid for something I don’t like going back.
Toughing it out
I was only on the cross-trainer for two minutes before I felt a shaken inside. I could feel my heart racing and my thighs begin to hurt very quickly. My head got a bit spinny.
‘I haven’t had breakfast yet,’ I explained to the trainer wanting to hide my lack of toughness.
And that’s what it is – lack of toughness.
I’m not unfit so I know now what I was experiencing wasn’t just physical weakness. It was more like a deep and hidden fear of doing anything to hurt myself, push myself, move out of my comfort zone.
We’re not long out of Lent and during that time I could smell a distant and imperceptible scent of joy – the joy of freedom from all sense of preciousness and self-concern. My body still holds the imprint of all sorts of hesitations, retreats, petulance, complaints and cowering and wants to retreat all over again as these memories rise up to meet me as I offer it a challenge.
I think it’s time I shed the weight of all this apprehension and take this cautious body into some new and difficult places. I may even get back to the blogging!
Photo credit: DVIDSHUB
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