Inner Dialogues

Not a million dollar baby!

(aka the Self-Pep Talk)

It's hard to be 27 in your head but a couple of decades older in reality. Each day brings its share of fresh pain -- muscle pain, that is. Today it's the right shoulder, last week it was the right bicep. Always it's the lower back. But last night in class, the only other person to show up (20-something, apparently indefatiguable, does 300 crunches while barely breaking a sweat) asked me how old I was and expressed admiration -- whether real or polite -- at my "endurance." "FOR YOUR AGE" was left unsaid.

It's been a little difficult to get the body to do what the brain says is not only doable, but not really even that hard. Often, while attempting a routine that seems quite straightforward, the body refuses to cooperate -- it gets cross and hook confused, forgets which way is left and which is right. Then the brain (the ego, actually) jumps into the act and whispers, "Why are you doing this at all? You look like an idiot. Go take up an exercise that's age-appropriate."

Well, I'm not ready for seniors fitness just yet. I want to persevere at this. I tried karate at age 25 and gave up within three weeks because my ego told me I wasn't coordinated enough to ever become good at it. I wish I hadn't listened. I'd be much further ahead today. I've always had the tendency to give up when the going got tough.

A big factor in this inner argument going on right here, right now, is that I don't really like our Saturday kickboxing instructor. He can barely speak French and doesn't understand it too well, either. This makes for difficult communication, as you can imagine. I ask questions and because he doesn't seem to understand my question, he launches into long, detailed explanations and lengthy tangents that have nothing at all to do with what I asked. It's like asking your boss how to perform a task, and he goes "tsk" and tells you the history of the company instead, leaving you feeling more confused than before.

But I need to remind myself that I'm not completely incompetent -- just learning something new that requires practice. And I'm probably 20 years older than the instructor, too. I'm not sure what he thinks of me, or of my age, or even if he thinks anything at all, other than that I'm guaranteed not to become his star pupil. Hillary Swank I am not. (What a great movie that was. I should watch it again.)

And that's fine by me. For now, I need to get over this feeling that I'm incompetent, and I need to get over it fast, because I've already agreed verbally to sign up for the summer session. And part of me is dreading it, and I don't want to approach something I love with an undercurrent of dread! I must remind myself that I'm in this to become fit and healthy for me, to prove I can do this sport and become reasonably good at it. Not to impress him, although that's hard because one always wants some of the teacher's approval -- to know you're making progress, that you're on the right track.

I have made progress, that's for sure. I have learned new things. I have improved. My endurance is, indeed, much better than it was three months ago. I can only get better. And maybe that's the attitude I need to carry with me at all times.