I admit it. I’ve become narcissistic. For those of you who think I was already self-absorbed, I’ve fallen even more in love with myself, and I don’t care what anyone thinks about it.
I spent most of my childhood believing I was worthless. I thought I was disgusting, and I couldn’t understand how anyone could love me. Blah, blah, blah. This isn’t a blog to gain anyone’s pity or make anyone fantasize about a warm bath and a razor blade.
Long story short, in time, with a lot of work, I started to focus on my good attributes. I gradually began to love the good things about myself. I never thought I was a hot babe, but I realized that when I was open to it, I received a healthy amount of attention from the opposite sex, and well, dammit, people liked me. All different people: young, old, men, women, adults, children, nerds, clerics, thugs, you name it. I could make friends with anyone. And when people like us, it’s attractive. Let’s face it. At some point in our lives. I think we’ve all met a hella hottie who lacks personality, and when we learn that they have the personality of road kill, their appeal suddenly starts to plummet. And how many times have we met someone who we wouldn’t give a second look to walking down the street, but once we talk to them or get to know them, they suddenly become absolutely irresistible? I can tell you that the men I would gawk at on the street look nothing like the men who’ve made my “Top Hotties” list.
About a year and a half ago, I decided to step it up a notch. I wanted to be not only as healthy as I could be emotionally, but I wanted to be as healthy as I could be physically. I was 43, and the health gods had been good to me. I didn’t have to take any medications—well not for any physical ailments. At that time, was still taking my daily mood stabilizer for bipolar disorder, but I had escaped diabetes, high blood pressure, high cholesterol, and many other curses that have plagued generations of my family. I realized I was playing Russian roulette, and I only had a couple to pulls of the trigger at most before that one bullet took me down. I decided to change my lifestyle. It was a gradual process, but I think it’s proven to be a successful lifestyle change.
After about nine months of my new life, which included months of walking 2 to 6 miles a day, I felt that I was ready to really kick things up and join a gym and work with a personal trainer.
I was feeling confident. Sure, I knew I wasn’t a body builder, but I was walking several miles a day, so I couldn’t be in that bad of shape, right? Wrong. The first time I met with Mike, the trainer, we spent a while talking about my life style and my goals. Then we were ready for him to give me a workout plan. The first thing he did was put me on the Precor AMT machine. Mike told me he wanted me to start with 10 minutes on the machine. Easy peasy I thought. Not! I lasted about 15 to 30 seconds and felt like my legs were going to give out—and they burned like I was walking through hell. I lasted a total of 4 minutes. Yes, only FOUR—and that was with a break every 15 to 30 seconds, and I couldn’t walk for three days afterward. However, I stuck with it, and within six weeks, I was up to 60 minutes on that machine. Once I achieved that goal, I increased the resistance, which goes from 1 to 20. Within about four months, I was not only doing 60 minutes a day on that machine, but I was doing it on resistance 20, half as stairs and half as a jog, clocking just over 7 miles during each 60-minute session.
That felt good. It especially felt good, because I felt that I had finally conquered that machine that took me down hard the first time we met.
Around the holidays, I took my sister to my gym as a guest. I had been trying to talk her into joining so we could be workout buddies. At some point, she made the comment, “Sis, you’re getting cakey.” If you aren’t sure what that means, it means someone has a booty. It caught me off guard, because my whole life, I was always Flat-Booty Judy. I had a pancake ass, a tuck butt—like tucking the sheets into your bed. I never had to worry about bumping into anyone or anything with my derrière, because it wasn’t there. This baby did NOT have back.
Just before Christmas, Mike had me stop working on the Precor AMT. He said my body had gotten too used to it and that I should wait about a month before I start doing it again. That’s when he had me start doing the SkiErg. That thing is no joke. It doesn’t look that tough, but it’s hardcore. It works your whole damn body: arms, core, and legs. When I first started, I lasted about 5 or 6 minutes (without a break this time), but I stuck with it, and now I’m up to about 45 minutes.
So how come the narcissism? I still don’t have the kind of body that would trigger insecurity in any of the Sports Illustrated swimsuit models. However, I am now the proud owner of an ass—and I don’t mean a donkey. I mean a booty…cakes. Baby finally got back. Sure, I still ain’t got nothing on J-Lo or Kim Kardashian, but it’s mine—all mine, and it isn’t airbrushed or lifted—and, I LOVE looking at it. Hey, I’ve worked hard for it. It’s my baby, and I know that with the right dedication, it’s going to just get better and better.
It’s my body, and I don’t care what anyone else thinks of it, because I like it in all its imperfect glory!
