3:32 p.m. - 2003-11-12
Of course, it was never just one more. It was usually 10 to 20 more push-ups, squats, bench press reps, or laps around the track.
I was rarely self-motivated to exercise or practice. It was all about the coach and the team. I did it to make others happy. I did it to make myself a hero of sorts. To save the day with a gold or silver medal that got us the regional or state championship.
The motivation continued through the first two years of college. I played on a local volleyball team and needed to keep fit for the team. It was a good feeling. Winning for the team.
Then, my highschool boyfriend came to college with me. The volleyball team stopped, because he couldn't participate. Wouldn't want to. He was a lazy ass some of a bitch. Then the workouts ended because he was jealous of the time I spent away from him. Probably scard that I'd meet a real man at the gym and see him for what he was. A sissy. A manipulative, destructive wuss.
So, I sat on his bed, watching him do homework, ate fatty tuna sandwiches, and spiraled into what I now know was a depression believing that I had to sacrifice the things that I loved, my future to make him happy. To make him stop crying and threatening suicide.
After several years, he found a woman who threatened him less. I knew the moment he made the switch. Tried to break up with him. But he wanted the power. He strung me along until he was sure that he had another woman to pay his bills and make his fucking tuna sandwiches. Then it was over.
The oppression lifted off my shoulders like many bricks. I was free. Scared, but free. The only thing I wanted from him was my class ring and my self respect.
I got both, and good riddence. I got my car keyed and was harrassed daily, but that ended too after a while.
I had lost my physical edge though. With no coach, not team and a hampered levels of inspiration, I never made it back to the level of fitness I had achieved over the years of training.
I don't expect to gain half of that back, but I took a class at the gym last night that made me feel inspired again. There was a coach, there were "teammates" and I felt like pushing myself to the limits again. And I did. And I'm dead sore, but euphoric. I thank God for the work mate who encouraged me to join her and her friends last night.
I felt the endorphins rush back into my brain, reminding me of who I used to be. What I used to love. Such happy memories.
I'm going to work out tonight, because I want to kick even more ass in the class next Tuesday. I want to push more weight, lunge more deeply, stretch even farther. The goal? Not to win a game, or please a coach or even lose weight. Just to become a bit of the athlete I used to be. To feel strong and flexible again.
Tonight I will sleep sound. I will dream of swabbing decks and boats rocking me to sleep thanks to the images from Batten's diary. And I will fall asleep with a feeling of accomplishment, and anticipation of things to come.