Friday, February 8, 2013

F&FiF: It's Been One Week ...

Anyone else singing the Barenaked Ladies song now? Because I totally am. Regardless. We're one week in to Fit and Fab in February, and I'm loving the response we've gotten here on the blog, on Facebook and on Twitter. Let's keep it going - February's the shortest month, so I'm sure even us slackers can handle it.


I'm pretty proud of my progress this week. I've been to the gym THREE WHOLE TIMES (where's my sticker, dangit?) and logged in a grand total of 7.75 miles. Which might as well be 8 miles. I know. I know. Some people do that on a daily basis, backwards and in heels, or walking uphill both ways. But this was a big step for me (probably several big steps. I need to get a pedometer.).

In order to fully understand my, ahem, aversion to anything involving movement, let me give you some background. Gather 'round, children, and send the squeamish to bed, 'cause every word of this tale is true.

I was born a poor black child as uncoordinated as a baby giraffe, and despite years of my parents' best efforts, I did NOT grow out of it. My mom tried to get me interested in dance as a youngster, and I always willingly participated. In fact, when I was really little, I decided I wanted to be a ballerina when I grew up, so we painted my bedroom a pale, shimmering pink, put framed photos of toe shoes on the walls and signed me up for fancy ballet classes ... which did not go well, as both balance and grace are required to successfully advance in dance (and no, you cannot get by merely on the fact that you like tutus and shoes with ribbon. I tried). After my brief flirtation with ballet, it was a long time before I attempted any sort of physical fitness. I embraced my nerdiness - sought to be the last one picked for any team sport in gym, hoisted my inhaler with pride when it was mile-running day, eschewed team sports for theater and newspaper in high school.

But then I met my husband. An active-ish guy. Who wanted to share his love of sportly things with me. So far, it's resulted in two trips to the emergency room. I went from being a vehement athletic avoider to an earnest athletic attempter. Until I dislocated my rib learning to pitch, sprained my hand and several fingers (as well as busted my engagement ring) at the batting cages, and bruised my shin to a gorgeously royal hue falling off the eliptical at the gym. So I tapped out.

Until recently. Celiac disease has taken a lot from me. But now that we are fighting fire with fire, I'm starting to get some of my old spark back (unintended pun). And while I don't think I can blame celiac for my lack of coordination, I also can't really blame it any more for my laziness. I've run out of (good) excuses. So, while Fit and Fab in February is a (short) month-long gimmick for us to get moving, get supportive and get inspired, I hope it doesn't end come March 1.

I would love to hear your stories. Please, please tell me that I'm not the only one who's gotten banged up by rogue gym equipment. Or maybe you, too, have damaged valuable jewelry because you were "crowding the plate" (WTH does that even mean??). Maybe you've put yourself in a knee brace because you stood up too quickly during rehearsal for a show. Or almost taken out a dressing room wall in Kohl's because your uncoordinated behind couldn't do something as simple as put on pants without inflicting injury. Let's commiserate.

2 comments:

  1. Way to go! I have all sorts of mishaps at the gym regularly. My shins and forearms are regularly bruised from working out. And sometimes, my collar bone is banged up too.

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  2. I will admit I was a ballet, tap, and jazz drop out. I simply wasn't coordinated enough and got super bored. I did however become a cheerleader and that lasted a couple years. But then as we were practicing for competition, the girl that was standing on my shoulders, she went to jump forward, the wind blew her shoelace into my mouth, I had braces, her shoelaces got caught, she was supposed to jump forward but we both went backwards....

    Working out now. I trip, I can't keep my balance to save my life. I run into walls walking around the house....I mean really who keeps moving all those glam walls so I bump into them.

    Then there was this one time when I was 8. We lived in Guam. I was running after a boy, tripped over a rock and sprained my wrist. A couple weeks later, I went to play kickball at a friends house. My Mom said not to wear my "sunday shoes". This rebel right here wore them anyway. I fell over ANOTHER rock and split open the top of my left foot.

    My middle name is Grace.

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