These days you can find me at the gym four to five times a week. If you’re thinking you’ll see me at a class or pumping iron with the big dogs, it’s not that. I mean, look at me. What I do at the gym is not pretty. In my head I pretend I look great. But if you’re looking for the woman in a cute little outfit. No. Definitely not that.
Me? I’m wearing the same t-shirt I slept in, because 1. I’ve already got it on; 2. it’s easy; and I’m not there to impress anyone. Always a baseball cap. Either the white one or when pigs fly from Portland running company because the hair has a mind of its own.
As I walk the 7 blocks to the gym I decide if I’m going to lift back, biceps, chest and triceps or my glutes, hamstrings and calves. I figure at my elementary stage, that’s about all I can tackle, although occasionally I’ll stretch.
We’ve had only one vehicle for over a decade, and it’s rarely a challenge since we live downtown in the heart of Portland. We walk everywhere. For errands, for fun and for exercise. And it shows at the gym: I feel like my legs are very strong.
It’s when I’m working my upper body that I find thought distortions creeping in. If you’re unfamiliar with the term, these are the thoughts that are either untrue or unhelpful. Or, in my case both.
My thoughts tend towards how lifting weights at the gym used to be easier. How I could lift more. How I didn’t have to baby my injured left shoulder.
How do I feel when I think these thoughts? Deflated. I want to quit. In fact that’s why I think my brain is serving me up these thoughts in the first place: it gives me an excuse to quit.
But is it even true? Was it easier back when?
It’s true that I didn’t have to compensate for a frozen shoulder. But the rest is some bullshit. I worked multiple part-time jobs, so just getting to the gym in the first place was challenging. My husband worked nights, which meant he slept during the day, which meant childcare, transportation and a whole lot of errands and extracurricular activities fell to me.
On the topic of time…I sit here on my couch at 5:33 in the morning writing this, because I had all of these ideas, and I have the luxury of being able to forego sleep and write the words as they pour from my brain. Because if I’m tired later, I can take a nap. My schedule is my own.
Fifteen years ago I might have had a good idea, but I would have forced myself to go back to sleep, because there was a schedule to keep. Actually there was a time when I had to be at my first job at 6:00, so that I could leave at 10:00 to go to my second job. I would never have had the luxury of getting up and capturing thoughts in the moment.Now, my kids are grown. My schedule is my own. Time is no longer a factor.
Back in the day we didn’t always have a gym membership, because money was often tight, so to save we’d let the membership go. A couple of years ago my husband bought a three-year membership at the gym which allows him to bring two guests every time he goes. So the membership isn’t an issue.
When I think about how much I’m able to lift, let’s be real: does that even matter? It does not.
The only thing that was better back in the day, is my left shoulder. And it’s getting better every day.
So I’ve been lying to myself.
This leads me to wonder where else I’ve been lying to myself?
I was in my late 30s when I began to loathe my legs, because a friend made a rude comment. So I covered them up, never to be seen for another 20 years. What a waste. As if they looked better then. Did they actually look better then? What changed? My thoughts about them changed. Looking back I’d tell my younger self to wear the damn bikini and never take it off.
I’ve always had a tendency to think, “Things will be better when…” Anyone else? When I’ve paid off my student loan. When I lose weight. When the baby’s out of diapers. When the kids are out of school for the summer. When the kids are back in school this fall. When I get the job. When I retire.When I own my own home. I remember realizing that I was no happier in the 1008 s.f. USDA-subsidized home that we’d just built than I was in the crowded 2-bedroom apartment we’d lived in when our firstborn arrived.
When we’re younger we’re unencumbered by loss, failed relationships, hurt, fear. When I broke my ankle I remember thinking, this is how people age. They look down when they walk because they’re afraid of falling, of hurting themselves. And so they begin to take fewer risks and live smaller lives.
The flip side is that loss has propelled me to do things I never dreamed possible. You’ve heard me talk about my best friend, gone too soon in her early forties. Since her death 8 years ago from pancreatic cancer, I often ask myself, What do I have to lose? You only live once. What would Brandie do?
My husband and I went to Sauvie Island a couple of weeks ago to pick blackberries. The first row I came upon was pretty picked over. Then I noticed that they all were. But I have some experience with this sort of thing and I’m determined, so I persisted. The rows appeared to be full of unripe red berries. But if you pull up the stems, there are often berries on the under side. You see what you look for. If you’re looking for red berries, you’ll see them, but if you’re looking for large ripe blackberries, you’ll find them, too.
So why do we think that it was better another time? Or that it will be better when…
Maybe it’s just different. Maybe this is as good as it gets.
Maybe, just maybe, the way things are now are the way they are supposed to be. And if we want something different, we can change what we can control. It’s up to us. It’s also up to us to be grateful for this moment.
I’m grateful to be wiser. To be older. To be in my no fucks given era. I wouldn’t go back for all of the tea in China. Not even if it meant I could live in a bikini.
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