And so, it begins. Today was day two of my workout and I have to say that it is kicking my ass already! But I did feel a major sense of accomplishment when I finished all of it with only a couple of microsecond long breaks to get a drink of water. To spare the public, I only work out in the privacy of my own living room. This way, no one has to watch my clumsy attempts at duplicating the rhythmic movements of Shawn T and his merry little band of followers. Skinny bitches with 12- pack abs, right down to the last one (let me be clear, I only mean "skinny bitches" in the nicest possible sense, since I hope to join their ranks someday).
Which brings me to my topic...exactly how "rockin'" of a body should I expect out of this? After all, I Will be forty- two in a couple of months. And while there are supermodels like Rachel Hunter and Cindy Crawford who are older than me and look fabulous, I can't help but think my days of fabulosity are behind me. And at the risk of sounding full of myself, I was freakin' fabulous back in my day. In fact, a much younger co-worker of mine told me after seeing pictures of me in my senior year of high school that he would have "totally been hittin' that" if he were around back then. Of course I had to completely burst his bubble by telling him that it never would have happened since he didn't strike me as the type to ever sport a mullet.
As I recently told another co-worker, even if I were to magically acquire this rockin' Body of which Shawn T speaks, there would still be the stretch marks. I mean, seriously, my butt looks like a road map, I totally forgot to lotion up the lower part of my belly when I was pregnant, so focused was I on the part I could actually see, and somehow I also managed to perform the previously unheard of feat of getting them on the backs of my knees. I'm not kidding, the backs of my knees! I know of absolutely no one else who has ever managed that. One of a kind, yep, that's me!
Don't get me wrong, the thought that my hard work and dedication to the program may possibly result in my resembling "Tiger- Striped Barbie" when I finally hit the beach with my rockin' new body is not going to deter me from doing my level best to reach my goal. I am not going to let a few (okay, okay, more than a few) silvery- pink striped bits of flesh stop me from becoming the best my 42- year- old self can be. For far too long instead of trying to effect change in myself, I've told my inner skinny girl whose been buried under a layer of subcutaneous blubber to shut the hell up and have another slice of cake. Instead of doing something about my circumstances, I've been trying to force myself to accept them, even though they weren't conducive to how I want to live my life.
Those days are gone. I'm not getting any younger, and I've wasted far too much time already. So, no matter how klutzy I look while working out and no matter how many more tiger stripes I incur on my journey towards my best self, I won't stop. And from now on I'll think of my stretch marks as battle scars from which I have always gleaned something wonderful.
The old ones belong to my son. The new ones will belong to the new and improved me.
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