Day 1 out of 21 days.
Now work with me here to put this into a realistic perspective for all of us before I get into what lays between the lines of this specific 21. Some of you have rallied through 21 shots for your 21st birthday (all of you) but was it not almost the end of your entire existence? Or a 21 page paper you had to fake your way through until you convinced yourself you actually made it? Or best of all, 21 credit hours standing between you and that coveted degree you’ve been told time and time again you won’t use. So close, yet way too comfy to reach it. 21 is daunting. So what does my 21 entail? Well, it entails 21 days of forming a new habit of a healthy lifestyle. Working out, feeding my body what it craves (other than snackies and DPs), and other health-world stuff I’m sure I don’t even know exists yet. This new lifestyle goal brought to you with the support of my oh so attractive fiancé. And yes you guessed it, he’s ultra into fitness. For fun let’s call him a hot potato and let’s call me a couch potato. Either way, who doesn’t love a potato?
My fiancé is the kind of guy crazy enough to do a 70.1 mile Half-Ironman Triathlon in the middle of a Texas version of July aka an actual microwave… I’m the kind of princess who stood out and cheered him on from the comfort of a sliver of shade I found on the sidelines. So you can imagine that when he brought up the idea of working out together for the millionth time I was guns loaded ready to shut it down. But by some divine intervention, I gave in. So here I am, standing at my university rec center wearing my sorority tank and the only pair of true running shoes I own. As I’m standing here feeling like the most out of place wannabe you would ever witness, I tried to make light of the situation and whisper to Kasey, my fiancé, ‘sausage fest, right?’ To which he responded with a polite chuckle. We dive right in. Words like ‘reps, sets, form, athletic’ were being tossed my way and I had no choice but to uncomfortably catch them with as much grace as I could. ‘Feet apart, knees bent, butt out, back straight, shoulders back, head up.’ Naturally, I assumed these were just a series of words we were spit balling like MadLibs. I assume the position, and boy did it feel vulnerable, and we get going. As we get going, I can feel my cheeks shaking, bullets of sweat forming, and what I can only imagine a permanently constipated look on my face the deeper we get into the workout. But I’m like ‘okay, sure, let’s all pretend we’re not aware that I know that you know that I know you’re seeing this very unattractive side of me right now’. We make it through the workout with the help of Kasey’s words of encouragement such as ‘I’m proud of you’ ‘That’s my girl’ and ‘You got this all on your own.’
Done! Sweet victory, she’s done! Wrong. With a subtle ‘we should go for a run, it’s beautiful’ I found myself bamboozled yet again. Rookie mistake. As we’re putting everything in the truck, Kasey whips his top off as I swiftly tuck my tank in. Now we live in Texas and it is hotter than hell out here. Confused, Kasey assures me I’d feel a lot cooler for the run without my sorority girl, one size too big, tank top on. As self conscious as I’ve ever been around him, I insist we drop it and get on with the run. So we do. After thinking about how I have found the love of my life just the way I am, and how I would never want anyone to endure the Texas heat in an extra layer of clothing if avoidable; I decide to take my tank top off. A monumental step for me as we’re running throughout campus and looking like I’m on the verge of literally melting at any moment. Now this isn’t a big deal to a lot of you ladies, and for that I envy you. But to me, it is. And for that, I have one ounce more confidence than I woke up with.