Sabbath and Contacts

I took a Sabbath: a Sabbath from exercising.

I decided not to exercise for a week.

I took a cue from the Old Testament.

In the Bible, there is lots of mention of Sabbath. God commands the Hebrews to rest on the seventh day. Even the plants get a Sabbath! God commands that every seven years, the land takes a yearlong rest. So, obviously, God likes rest.

I had been working out pretty hard…well, more than I’ve ever worked out in my life. Which, I suppose, may or not mean anything to anybody.

Working out had become a duty to me.

I didn’t enjoy it and I didn’t want to do it.

Come to find out, the Sabbath was just what I needed.

When I came back to work out, my body was all like “Yeah, Becky! Let’s get fit!”

It felt awesome.

Today, I actually looked forward to going, and felt suuuper awesome!

I’ve noticed there are certain little changes I make before exercising that I’m convinced will make exercising a more enjoyable experience.

I wrote about the time that I wore my magical Harry Potter shirt and was able to jog farther. In college, I was convinced I could exercise better if I wore a tank top. Today, I decided that to have the optimal work out experience, one must wear contacts. Not glasses.

Glasses cloud the mind.

Glasses fog up when I sweat.

Glasses make me look lame.

But contacts, oh no. I look awesome in contacts.

I’m quite convinced there is a correlation between the level of how awesome you feel and the level off how productive a work out is.

New exercise formula: wear contacts more.

Blisters, Objectification, and Biceps

I had a really tough work out last wednesday. 

I was sweating like an un-kosher pig. 

And I was freaking sore.

I dunno what it was. I did the same exact exercises, strength trainings, and cardio that I usually do. 

I was so sore the next day, that I decided to not do any sort of exercising. 

Becky’s body needed a rest. 

But then, on Friday, I was still sore. 

Walking down the stairs had me verbally proclaiming my soreness with each step. 

Well, I didn’t want to exert myself too much...but I still needed to do some sort of exercise. I came up with a compromise. 

I decided that I would walk the mile and a half to Wal-Mart to buy shoes for the job I’m starting on Monday. 

This was going to be great. 

The weather was beautiful. 

The sun was shining. 

I was wearing a tank top in the ridiculous hopes of getting some sort of tan. 

But, I made a fatal error. (I suppose that’s being a bit dramatic. But that’s how I roll.)

I wore flip flops. 

And they hurt like HELL!

I now have beautiful blisters all over the soles of my feet. 

Every step makes me wince in pain. 

To top it off, on my walk there, I was objectified at least four times by nasty men driving by. 

Maybe it was my childbearing hips. 

Maybe it was my bare shoulders. 

Maybe it was because I was a single woman walking along the road. 

But I was PISSED. 

It got me thinking about the idea of Rape Culture. 

This idea where if a woman is raped, someone in the court may ask, “Well, what was she wearing?” Was she was asking for it?

BUT, there are people smarter than me who know how to discuss the subject better than anything I could muse about. 

So, I’ll just stop. 

Way to bring down the mood, Becky. 

Needless to say, I don’t think I will be walking along for a while down that way. 

So, what I was hoping to be a rather wonderful experience, ended up being a rather unpleasant experience. 

In lighter news, 

I have developed biceps now....

I like to watch my arm muscles “pump up” when I flex. And I touch the muscles. And I’m all like, “dang, is this my body?” 

If only my leg muscles will cooperate and look as awesome as my arms. 

“There’s a guy that looks like that at our school?!”

I went out for a jog outside today instead of going to the gym that I joined. It’s an absolutely beautiful day in Wisconsin. The snow has melted! Although I’m not sure how long it’ll last... *sad face*

I was reminded how much I hate to have anybody see my jog. 

A car passed me on the secluded little country road that I live on.

And that’s when I remembered. 

It was 9th grade. My first year of high school. There were two rival middle schools in our County, but in the end, we had to put away away our friendly hatred of each other to attend the same high school. 

But it was okay. 

Because we were very mature 14-year-olds. 

Ninth grade meant new friends. And new boys.

“There’s a guy that looks like that at our school?!” My friend Bertina pointed out a tall, blonde football type guy from our bus.

I’d seen him before. He was from the other middle school. 

And he was hot. 

But there was something about the way she noticed him that always stuck with me. 

“A guy that looks like that!”

There’s a certain sense of pride and awe in her observation of him, And of course attraction in that sentence. 

I remember in that moment wanting somebody to say the say the same thing about me. 

Which was impossible because I looked like this:

I'm the one on the right. 

Haha.

And I realized that I still subconsciously wanted somebody to say that about me. 

“We have somebody that looks like that at our work?”

“We have somebody that looks like that shopping in our store?”

“We have somebody that looks like that (insert a ridiculous scenario)?”

But, due to my predisposed genes, the likelihood of that happening are slim. No, this isn’t a “I hate myself and need people to make me feel better” post. Far from it. Even when I lose the 50 pounds (hopefully this year), I probably won’t be the female equivalent of that guy from my freshman year of high school. 

(I just Facebook stalked him and he doesn’t look as cute as I remember....)

Among other learning experience, my five years in college were a time were I realized that I wasn’t drop dead gorgeous. What a crazy day that realization was! Just kidding. There wasn’t one event. On a good day, I’m cute and funny. And that’s fine. I don’t think God makes all of us to be incredibly attractive. 

So, to you men and women who are incredibly attractive all day everyday, use it for good. Not evil. 

But me, when I do my cardio, in those moments where my breathing is labored and I just want to quit exercising, I’m going to pretend it’s not all in vain, and that a girl that looks like that is exercising.

Haha. 

This post has no great moral lesson. 

I’m sorry. 

Confessions of a Meathead.

About a month ago I met with a trainer at the Princeton Club.

I told him my weight-loss goals. 

I want to lose 50 pounds. 

He showed me strength training exercises to do. 

He recommended cardio machines and techniques.

He showed me how to stretch.

He advised me to work out an hour and a half per visit. 

At this point in my life, I had a job. 

So I told him I could work out 4 times a week.

He was nice.

So, I’ve been working out for month.

I was hoping to pick up jogging again. It was something I really enjoyed from the summer. And something I could measure my progress by. 

The Princeton club does have a track. It’s a little track that circles all the workout machines and equipment. Ten loops is a mile. 

I have learned that I prefer to jog outside. Inside the gym is artificial and stale. I spend most of my time trying to memorize what lap I’m on. When I jog inside, I can stop at any time. But when I’m jogging outside, I have to get back home. I can’t stop whenever. I still have to walk back wherever I am. It forces me to focus and just jog. 

I may have mentioned in a previous post, but before joining the gym, I hadn’t exercised in MONTHS! It’s too darn cold and icy outside! 

When I tried to jog a mile. I couldn’t do it. 

It took me about a week of continual jogging around that tiny track to finally be able to do it. 

Now that I’m unemployed, I work out everyday. Two hours a day. 

Yeah. Two hours. I feel like a meathead. 

Where’s my protein shake?

She (might be) back.

I joined a gym.

Not just any gym.

The Princeton Club.

The Princeton Club is for classy snobs.

I am not a classy snob. 

BUT, It’s close to work, I have friends that go there, and I could meet with a personal trainer for free.

So I joined.

I didn’t mean to join. 

I called to find out how much it cost. And, instead of simply telling me, he invited me to come down and check it out. 

Apparently there’s an InterVarsity employee discount.

I got it real cheap.

So, it’s officially been one week that I’ve been a member of “The Club”. 

My first day I went, I decided to start out with a jog. I haven’t jogged in...I don’t know...three months maybe... And the last time I did jog, it was awful. So, my goal was to jog a mile without stopping.

I didn’t make it. 

Ten laps is a mile. 

I completed 7 laps, walked a lap, and could only jog two more laps. 

It was hellish.

But I went again the next night.

I did a bit better, but not quite a mile.

Monday night, I did it. I jogged a mile. 

And tonight, I did it again, and even went a bit further.

Unfortunately for my work-out schedule, I’m going to Indianapolis for work tomorrow through Sunday. So I won’t be able to work out. Boo.

I’m going to Georgia for my friend’s wedding the weekend of February 24th and 26th. Lorraine asked me if I wanted to run a 5k with her and Melissa.

Something strange in my decided to say yes.

I won’t be able to jog the whole thing, but it’s a nice motivation to work up to. If I can finish it in 45 minutes I’ll be happy.

I’m an athletic pansy.

But I have to start somewhere. AGAIN. 

This is an existential post.

There is deep wisdom within our very flesh, if we can only come to our senses and feel it.  

~Elizabeth A. Behnke

I have my most profound thoughts when I’m jogging. 

And then they’re lost when I come to my senses.

I imagine it’s a lot like getting high. I’ve been told by my pot smoking friends that when they’re high they think they can write books.

That’s how I feel when I jog.

I also learn a lot about myself when I jog. 

I was motivated to jog because I looked down and said to myself, “Becky, what the heck, do you want to be fat the rest of your life?” To which I responded quickly, “No, ma’am!” So, I grabbed my fancy jogging sneakers and took a jog.

I’ve often felt that there was more to myself then what is presented to the world. Oh, goodness, I sound like a crazy person!

In the Bible (Matthew 22:37), Jesus says, “Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind.” There, He says better than I ever could. There’s a sort of dichotomy within us. (Although, I think dichotomy is the wrong word since it implies a division of two...)

Heart, Soul, Mind. 

I imagine one can interchange body and spirit with those. Sometimes I get them all mixed up.

It kind of reminds me of a funny quote I used to laugh at as a kid:  “And remember, no matter where you go, there you are.” I really am bringing more than just a body wherever I go. 

Anyways, my body ought to be my best friend. I have it with me the rest of my life. Today, while jogging, I realized what a crummy friend I’ve been to myself. Although insulting myself to go jogging did motivate me, it wasn’t very kind. I think my mind was bullying my body. It usually does.

I love eating healthy. Well, I love the concept behind eating healthy. Eating healthy is the equivalent of being kind to our bodies. Today I was hungry and went to Burger King. Burger King is disgusting. But I was alone, and tend to do retardedly impulsive things when I’m by myself...or rather, with every part of myself...hmm...Anyways, it was not only enjoyable, but it was like my poor body was crying out telling me to stop bullying it, eating terrible processed foods. 

Well, I paid for it while I was jogging. It was a very difficult jog. I had the worst cramp under my right rib. I know that is probably more directly related to not breathing properly, but I felt my body telling me that I’ve been a crabby friend.

I’ve been overeating. I’ve been name calling. I’ve been eating crap. All leading to low energy and lack of exercise. 

So, another wake up call to myself. I feel like I have these every couple of months. So, once again, I’m going to be intentional about how I treat my body. What i’m putting in it. What I’m thinking/saying to it. How I’m treating it...or her...or me. 

I’m not entirely sure what this looks like. 

I’m sure she’ll (my body/Becky) tell me. 

: )

Our own physical body possesses a wisdom which we who inhabit the body lack.  We give it orders which make no sense.  

~Henry Miller

This blog is boring and unclever today.

Oy, it’s been a while.

Since I’ve moved to Madison, I’ve been jogging twice. The second time was today. 

It’s been really rough. 

A couple of weeks ago, I synced a jogging play list with super upbeat and motivational jogging songs. Today, there was no such playlist on my iphone. 

Somebody is sabotaging me!

I blame today’s crappy jog on the lack of a playlist. 

I spent most of the jog skipping through mellow music.

I wish I knew how to be in tune with my body. Like one of those people who can pinpoint what their body wants/needs in that moment. 

I’ve been living in a sort of catch-22 recent. Jogging gives me energy. After work, I have no energy to run. 

No jogging = No energy.

Maybe I’m still getting accustomed to midwest life. 

Maybe I’m getting accustomed to my new job. 

But gosh darn it, jogging has been hard. I didn’t even want to blog about my last jog because it was so mediocre. 

Blech. 

I’m needing some motivation and energy.