Keepin' it real

I think I could just kick that Jillian Michaels in the shin. She and her 30 Day Shred. And her perfectly toned abs. And her encouraging spirit and her own fat-to-skinny story that has propelled her to do what she can to help women not have to go through what she went through. Yeah. She's the one. I mean, kick her HARD in the shin.

I am not one to obsess over needing to lose weight. I used to obsess over the idea that I was fat. I have, more times than I care to count, obsessed over how much I could do and how long I could go at the gym, thinking it would help me lose weight. I have obsessed over the magical numeric equation of calories that could be consumed without ousting my hard, obsessed work in the gym. But, I have never obsessed over the need to lose weight. I guess I figure the need, itself, is pretty outright; an undeniable fact. No need to obsess over something so concrete.

But, it occurred to me this evening, while Jillian Michaels was shouting out encouragement for me to "Keep going!" and "Push through!" during the last segment of Level One strength training (squats and shoulder raises - eesh!), that I am most obsessed with failing. Failing. Not passing. Not completing the task at hand. Not winning. Not making the cut. Not fulfilling what was sought out to accomplish. Failing.

This personal trainer with arms the size of Civil War canons comes to my school three days a week to assist some of us teachers in our quest to health via exercise. He charges a teeny, tiny fee for a 45-minute workout that comes complete with running sprints, squats, encouragement throughout, and a prayer for us to meet our goals at the end. I know. I just hate him.

He started coming back in September, all fired up and wanting to help. I decided pretty quickly that I didn't like him. He was nice and accomodating. He remembered people's names and asked where they had been the last workout session. He told people they were doing well and praised their hard work. He helped people over the plateau of weight loss by creating specific diet plans and tweaking their workouts to push them a little harder. He smiled a lot. Ew. It just made my skin crawl.

Several people from school encouraged me to join them. My friends and coworkers started fitting into dresses and jumpsuits and clothes from years ago that were unflattering to them before Coach Big Guns showed up. Coach Big Guns, himself, tried to get me to take the icy plunge into the depths of horror that was their workout sessions. But, don't worry. I stayed strong for four months.

Then, last week, I succumbed to their pleas. Mostly, it was my friend Cookie's doing. Cookie, although she has mentioned wanting to, doesn't mother me. She doesn't nag. She doesn't tell me what I should do. She would just say, in passing, how much better she felt having worked out. She would just mention, off the cuff, that yesterday was a tough workout but that everyone had encouraged her to keep going until she was through. She would slip in how we are all in a place to better ourselves for the mission that God had called us to. You know, sneaky stuff, like that.

Coach Bug Guns was late for the first two sessions I attended. His excuses, although legitimate, made it very easy for me to snuggle down deeper in my poor judgement of him. I added arrogant, lazy, and habitually late to the list of disdainful qualities about him. He and Jillian Michaels would make a lovely couple. Of course, she wouldn't be able to walk what with the injury to her shin and all. But, he could carry her, no problem. Remember, his arms? Huge.

I was making dinner a few minutes ago, thinking about how much I dislike that Jillian Michaels and how I would write a blog about wanting to kick her in the shin which I thought was a fine way to start a new blog post when the pattern struck me.

These lovely people with hearts, as far as I know, of gold, wanting to help others who have not mastered the art of purposely pushing their bodies to work for them represent the element of change that peak my deepest obsession. It isn't them that I don't like, so much as it is the thing they represent: the opportunity for change. They are my fear's enemy. The opportunity to change is on one side of the battle field; my fear of failing is on the other. The war is waged. Up until now, I had given into the fear. I had given up the fight long before it ever really got heated.

Well. Let me just say this as I gather my things and cross the battle lines.

I am not on Fear's side. I am on Change's side.

"For God did not give us a spirit of fear, but a spirit of power, of love, and of self-discipline." II Timothy 1:7