Wednesday, March 19, 2014

Madison Stuart School of Kicking Ana's Ass Into Shape: The Decision to Start

After a long sip of my green smoothie, I let out a deep sigh and traced the logo on the Jamba Juice paper cup. My eyes fluttered up, hoping she'd notice, but Madison sat uninterested, flipping through her phone. I sighed a little louder and took another sip.

"You're pathetic," she accused, keeping her eyes on the screen. "If you want my attention, speak. I've never understood women's subtle hints." Her steely eyes met my troubled ones as she reached for her cup containing some putrid combination of juices that I had yet to muster the courage to taste. "It wreaks of insecurity." With her straw at her lips, she ordered, "speak, already."

I hated her bluntness. "You're not a very nice person," I countered. I didn't like her condescending tone. Just because she was in shape, healthy, and whatnot, didn't give her the right to talk down to me. Excuse me! I was a lot older than her, and well as we age our metabolism, hormones, and everything goes to hell in a hand basket. I'd like to see her body when she's pushing her early forties. A little smirk spread on my face, imagining her fat and frustrated. 

Reaching for the napkin on the table, she dabbed the corner of her mouth. I hated, yet another thing about her, her manners. She always used them except when she spoke to me. That's when she was rude, callous, and insensitive. At that moment, I was fragile, and what I needed was compassion.

Sympathy often leads to apathy.

She propped her elbows on the table and laced her fingers together, creating the perfect cradle for her face. "If you wanted nice, you'd be sitting across from Dani." Her lips spread in a devious grin. "You want the hard truth, not a wound licking partner."

I suspected a little bitterness there. Madison's eyes were a dark sapphire blue and a little arch to her eyebrow told me that she meant to stick it to sweet and lovable Dani.

"Ah, I see you're bitter." I smiled, touche, bitch. 

Unimpressed with me, she sat back and pulled out her phone again. "I'm not the one wallowing in self-pity." She snickered. "Or the one that's in denial. Call it what you want. You're here with me because you need the hard honest truth. If you wanted the sisterhood bullshit Daniela preaches, you would've called her." Her eyes shifted above her phone and pierced mine. "I can't do it for you. You need to do it for yourself."

She was right on all counts. I'd wanted to follow her rules to getting my ass back in shape, but...

1. I'm a single mom of a six year old who needs me to be present to parent.
2. I have a full-time job with a lot of responsibilities.
3. I'm a writer, my agent is waiting for three (3) synopsis, I have a third novel to write.
4. My kitchen sink backed up and well, that was a nightmare (more on that one on another post)
5. The time change has really messed with my sleep cycle--I'm so tired in the morning.
6. I'm not twenty five, anymore.

I had an excuse for everything.

She leaned in. "Are you ready to stop making excuses? Between your self-pity and excuses, I'm exhausted. You know what you have to do. When you're ready, I'll help you. Until then, you're just occupying a seat across from me and breathing heavy like a chronic smoker." She shrugged. "I have better things to do, but since I like you, I'll help." She then rolled her eyes. "The last time I agreed to help a pathetic soul..." she trailed off smiling.

"It worked out perfectly for you," I added with my own sheepish smile. I glanced away and let the truths settle as the tears pooled in my eyes. I had a hard time explaining how I felt. My life in many ways was chaos. I need to pull things together, but I was overwhelmed. I didn't have 10 lbs to lose. I had a lot more than that... a way lot more than that. I was tired of feeling bad about myself and for myself. I was tired of laughing it off. I was tired of pretending it didn't bother me. I hated that I avoided mirrors and walked with my head down.

I swallowed the lump in my throat. "I need to do this."

"We'll start light. After all, this is a marathon, not a sprint. I want 20 minutes on the treadmill every day. I don't care when but you move on that damn dust collector every day. You can't go to bed without getting on it."

"Okay, fine," I agreed. That was doable. She didn't specify that I had to reach a target heart rate, break a sweat or anything. I just needed to move.

"Oh, and no more Diet Pepsi." She raised that perfectly groomed eyebrow. She went for the jugular and we hadn't even started. "Water. It's good for you."

"I hated her, but loved me." I took a moment of silence and said farewell. "Good bye my most beloved Diet Pepsi."

She pushed back from the table, placed her phone in her bag and flung it over her shoulder as she stood up. "My job for today is done." She winked, a bad habit she had picked up from Rick. "Same time tomorrow."

Today I purpose not to make any more excuses. Today, I claim my life back, one step at a time. How about you?

One woman's journey to weight loss and reclaiming her health
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