A few weeks back I found myself stuck. Not between a rock and a hard place but literally stuck. Like I actually felt a moment of panic and thought I might need to call for help.
The day started out like any other day, attending a 6 am Gfit Women (Group Fitness for Women) class in my hometown of Media, Pennsylvania. I’ve been a struggling member since January. Yep, another one of my classic “this is the year I finally get myself in shape” New Year Resolutions. Each class is approximately 36 minutes of, what I consider, torture: cardio, weight training, strength and endurance. That translates to endless burpees, box jumps, lifting weights, running and jumping rope, just to name a few. All hellish.
But this particular day I almost mostly kept up with the Jones’, or should I say sort of kept up with the badasses. They are the girls who always go the fastest, are the strongest and look the best in their gear. For heavens sake, they even sweat pretty. I handled the running, increased my weights and didn't die. I left there feeling pretty darn proud, if I don’t say so myself.
Perfect day, too, since we were leaving for our family vacation the next morning. So I be-bopped through the rest of my day, enjoying endless loads of laundry, picking up dry cleaning, running into Trader Joe’s for plane snacks and picking up cash at the bank. I even broke another personal best record for running errands, so with the extra free time I pulled into the mall.
I busted through the front doors like Clint Eastwood. I strutted towards the bathing suit section with my imaginary chains dangling and guns blazing. The scene resembled a war zone, with items strewn every which direction. Bathing suit parts littered for what seemed like miles. Clearly I was not alone in my annual battle to find the perfect bathing suit. So I took a deep breath, womaned up and began the search and rescue.
In search of exactly what, you might be wondering? A bathing suit that would compliment my newly cocky attitude, of course. I picked through the rubble until my hands ached and hangers were dangling from every appendage. I swaggered to the dressing room with my loot.
Somewhere in between a tankini top and a beautiful coral one piece I lost my perspective. I got caught up in a tankini two sizes too small. I allowed my cocky attitude to get the very best of me. There I stood in the middle of a rundown dressing room sweating bullets trying to wrangle myself out of this swimsuit straight jacket. I think I burned more calories in that dressing room than I had working out. As my Apple watch exercise app was soaring I felt my self esteem plummet.
I will spare you the ugly details but suffice it to say it was a super ugly life altering moment for me. Once free from bondage I splayed out on the half bench and caught my breath, thanked my angels and re-evaluated. What if I really had to call for help? Were there cameras in this dressing room recording my private fiasco? Are those actual paper cuts under my armpits from the size labels? This was a personal crossroads moment for me. Shall I tear myself down or build myself up?
This time I chose positivity and made the day a trifecta of personal bests! My takeaway was I am stronger and healthier than I have been maybe in my lifetime. I am fortunate to have a group of girls who inspire, encourage and support me. So I picked myself up off that bench and continued my search for a bathing suit that fit perfectly and honored all my efforts, progress and even my sassy attitude too.
she wore an itsy bitsy teeny weeny yellow polka dot tankini,
Moral: Celebrate and honor all your accomplishments, both big and small.
A little thing you should know: I am a mad packer. I rarely, if ever, check luggage when flying. I learned my impressive skills from my father who claimed to learn them while serving in the army. It’s a matter of rolling and tucking, which come to think of it, sort of is the same kind of method as doing a reverse burpee. Too bad we don’t pack luggage in exercise class, I would crush every single one of those badass girls.