Musings of a Wench

Move it like you mean it

So. Pole dancing? Fucking rocks. *Squee* I had so much fun and I worked so fucking hard. Okay, the pole dancing part wasn't so hard, but the floor work? Oh, my burning arms.

It didn't help that I was running a bit of a fever, probably as a result of 4 hours of being really cold. (After we got home, we spent almost an hour in the sauna warming up. After an hour, the temperature was about 140F, and I had only sweat about 3 drops, I was still cold.) And my lunch fitness class had been body sculpt, which is one of the muscle intensive classes, and we'd worked triceps really hard. So then pole dancing floor workout? Worked triceps even harder.

I feel like such a goof doing these things. But I guess that's part of the challenge, isn't it? Getting over the fact you feel like an idiot? That you feel embarrassed and fat and silly and uncoordinated and not even remotely sexy?

Let this compulsive exercising not fool you in to thinking I am skinny, for I am not. And I'm not using anorexia speak either. I am, according to my BMI, about 4 pounds away from being clinically obese, which I call bullshit on. Yes, I am overweight and short, but I have big, bulky muscles and lots of them. My calves may be 15 inches in circumference, but they are ripped. I have big strong biceps (okay, and wobbly triceps). I am strong. I can carry my 200+ pound boyfriend around on my back. I lift 5-8 pound weights a few times a week. I do a ton of core work and while the muscles may be hidden under fat, they are still strong and still there. I am built like the stock I come from - like a peasant, with a body designed for manual labour and child birth. It's true, but I've made my peace with that. (See the name of this blog.) I don't know, that whole BMI thing pisses me off, because I refuse to believe I am obese. I wear a size 10 pants, and I am very muscular and have big bones. (No, seriously, it runs in the family. My father, in a swimming pool? Sinks to the bottom.) I need to loose weight, sure, but obese? No. I just don't buy it, no matter what the charts tell me.

Sorry, off tangent rant there. I can see the merit of the BMI, but if you are built muscular and have been in sports and exercising your whole life, it certainly gives less than the full picture. Muscle mass weighs almost twice what fat weighs.

What I did want to talk about was exercise. I figured out a while ago that most of my depression seems to be chemical and the easiest way to deal with that is to exercise. A lot. I'll be honest - exercise would probably not be enough to get me out of those awful patches, or if something awful happened in my life, but damn if it isn't good at keeping the low grade stuff away. Last summer I couldn't get into the class, so all I was doing was yoga once or twice a week, and I was depressed. I put on about 10 pounds, too. Look, I am in no way trying to say this is a prescription for everyone, or in fact, anyone but me. But it works so well for me - I don't know what I would do without it. I love me the happy hormones that come from a good workout, I love the body weariness and I love love love the strength. I will never be a small, skinny girl. But what I can be is in shape. To be able to do whatever the hell I want to with my body. To spent the day racing down black runs on a board, or to hike down that mountain without my knee giving out, or to do a hi-lo class and pick the high option every time. And you know what? I'm most of the way there. I need to eat less, because that's my big problem. I am a gourmet with gourmand tendencies, when I am not careful. I don't binge eat, I never have, but I love good food. And crackers, can't forget the addiction to crackers.

As much as I would like to change my body, loose my belly, firm everything up, that's not the real reason I exercise. Not anymore. It's because, as surprising as it is to those who have met me, is that I absolutely love to move. I love the exercise, the blast of happy hormones, the soreness, the success. Also, I have pretty much never not being involved in some activity. As a kid I did them all - skating, soccer, tball, gymnastics, dance, swimming... In high school, despite almost failing one semester of gym, I swam 6 days a week in the spring and summer, plus the school swim team, and skated twice a week in the winter. On my year off I tried fencing and diving. When I started university I started yoga and pilates. With this job, I started cardio classes and strippercize and more yoga. I have been dreadful at just about every single one of theses. I finished in the bottom 5 for 10 consecutive years in swimming. I can't do a summersault in diving to save my life. I was basically asked to not return to dance when I was 6. I’ve sucked at everything and loved them all anyway. *shrug* I'm no athlete and I'm not coordinated. I just ... keep slogging. But it's nice - even when you suck you still see results. When I started yoga almost 7 years ago, I couldn't touch my toes, couldn't get close. Now, with almost no warm up I can wrap my hands around my feet. Sure, I'll probably never be able to do the splits, but I can get a foot closer than I used to be able to.

I don' know. I'm writing this mostly to myself, to remind myself that there is a reason that this is important to me, that it's worth all the money I shell out for various classes. That there are many reasons, all of them good. And that because I love it is perhaps the best reason of all.

posted by Morgan @ 9:02 a.m.