Tag Archives: crazy

Oh The Places You’ll Go

The most dangerous thing in life is our biases and preconceptions. Living as if our younger selves were fortune tellers means always holding ourselves up to a idealized standard that never really existed. I pictured myself at a very different place at 26, but now that I am here, I am not in that elusive magical cookie cutter life. I also used to think that 26 sounded old, but I still act immature so that can’t be right.

The older I get, the more I wish I had taken Dr. Seuss more seriously. The cartoons in his rhymes always suggested to me that the books were not to impart anything substantial, but looking back, Dr. Seuss was one of the first cheerleaders in most of our homes.

“If things start happening, don’t worry, don’t stew,
Just go right along, and you’ll start happening too”
-Dr. Seuss

Lately, my head has been overwhelmed with a constant effort to decipher what I think I want from what I actually want. Even that sentence confuses me. There have been a few occasions where the amount of conflicting ideas screaming over top of each other in my head make me think that I will be the next Torontonian sleeping on the subway and talking to imaginary friends. Except I plan to gracefully exit this phase at some point. Fingers crossed that crazy can just be a pit stop.

Moving to Toronto was a situation that I did not think through and was not a part of a plan in any way. It was a good idea at the time and I happily arrived to a new city feeling like I was moving forward but was really chasing my tail. It was an opportunity that the world gave me to grow up real fast but I responded by dragging my heels and wasting as much energy as possible to stay in my comfortable little rut. So, instead, I learned some life skills the hard and tedious way after they came around a few more times. I guess you can teach an old dog new tricks though; throw me a treat Universe, I get it.

After reading through some of my posts, I feel like my blog is a motivational speaker that struggles with motivation. There is always a point and often a positive message that gets sidetracked or overtaken by stories or stats of how much I can deadlift (115lbs for 3×10. See how I slipped that in there!) At least I believe I can keep myself from living in a van down by the river. (If you don’t get that joke you should watch this and laugh with me)

So tonight I skipped my food prep for tomorrow and most of studying to write this, and dance around my apartment. It is hard to take life advice from Taylor Swift but she sure can make me dance. And yes, this was my life changing revelation. Just roll with it.

 

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The Friday Sessions

There is no workout harder than the Friday afternoon workout. Not necessarily for the reasons you may think. It has nothing to do with the amount of workouts that come before it in the week, or the program I have planned.

During my weekly workout sessions in the gym, I am usually filling a long break between clients. I can take my time between exercises, make awkward conversation with strangers, watch sports highlights, and make sure I don’t miss any of the good songs on my iPod. I enjoy doing all of these things and I take advantage of the time. Whoever set up the seated leg press in front of the TV showing TSN highlights may as well have added my nameplate to the machine. It is an invitation I always accept- to sit and catch up what I missed because I went to bed before the good stuff happens in everything, until someone wants to use it and I have to “work in” with them. My workouts are so long that I have gone with friends to Hero Burger partway through, and I really wish that was a lie. My sessions get spread into various gaps throughout the day which is absolutely less effective, and makes for an unsettling half-sweaty feeling that leaves me unsure where I stand in terms of hygiene standards appropriate for working in a gym.

Friday afternoon workouts are like Eye of the Tiger is being played on a loop, sped up, and volume loud like an airplane. They are like drill sergeants are screaming at you to do more, keep pushing harder, and keep doing it faster. I will sacrifice my reputation to pretend I didn’t hear someone start a conversation and I will let go of my pride as I make loud, whining sounds as I run to the next exercise. Hydration is a dump over the head, a swig with a spit. I can chug water bottles on the way home.

For real. It’s Friday.

Resistance training somehow ends up as cardio as I navigate the floor in a haphazard yet diehard sort of way. I will cut people off to get to the smallest weights, and I will not be embarrassed to be visibly strained before I run to the next exercise avoiding eye contact (I assume would be dirty looks).

I will apologize on Monday. But it is Friday.

I am not getting my “pump” on to go out. Likely, I am going home to an involuntary nap and then episodes of New Girl after I wake up too late to go out. I am not a girl who preps for the weekend like it is the day before a bikini- demanding vacation. My brain has processed how close I am to going home for the weekend and I physically cannot reduce my heart rate until I see the outside world.

Friday workouts require a big effort, a slightly crazy mentality, and a relationship status of single (due to moderate unpredictability of weekend napping to follow).

My plan is to get a run in this weekend and since my back survived my Friday session, it should be good to go. Wave if you see me, I’ll be running with Rub A535 in one hand and a rum and coke in the other.

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