To be a betterer me

To be a betterer me

I have re-re-rededicated myself to running.

Last year my resolution was to lose weight; this year it was to throw myself into exercise with reckless abandon and uncensored joy. Since running (and kata box and occasionally yoga, though I’m about as bendy as block of wood) is the only energetic, calorie-burning activity that I enjoy, I decided to focus on that time round.

So far (as the third month peaks over the horizon) I have run: zero times.

Not even one time. Zero, nada, zip, nothing, no, none times.

I did try to go to gym in January – my body was achy and sore and my back was killing me, so I figured a little jog and a long stretch would do me a world of good. Turned out I had a killer backache because I had a kidney infection and a 39.6 degree fever. Doctor booked me in bed for a week after that.

OK, I’m trying to make my exercise attempts sound cerebral and high-brow (‘I actually like it’) and though I have got to the point where I’m enjoying exercise, there is definitely a weight loss element attached to it.

And man, I love those endorphins. They totally rock my world.

The truth is two months with minimal exercise has left me feeling like this:

woman putting on her brassiere 1979 Fernando Botero
By Fernando Botero.
fernando botero
Me reading in Kirstenbosch (by Fernando Botero).
fernando botero
Me getting ready for sexy time (by Fernando Botero).

Or even this (when I haven’t shaved):

fat catAnd of course, the December holiday never helps. All those big family, full cream butter lunches and dinners (and leftover Christmas trifle, only my aunt and I like it!) didn’t help matters either.

comedian eat till i hate myself

My goal has always been to look like this:

lollipop red
But less red and shiny. Ånd with better hair.

You know, like Ally McBeal (I forget her real name) and other lollipop celebrities. Unfortunately I must accept that I will never be tall and svelte. I can be thinner, and fitter, but I will never be able to do a telephone pole impression (which, boob wise, I guess, is a good thing).

I’m no worm waiting to be a butterfly; there’s only so much transforming I can do.

before after white black

My aunt said I remind her of Adele the other day.

You know, Adele the singer. This Adele:

adele at mtv music video awards 2011

I take this to mean my aunt expects me to win six Grammies?

adele with six grammies
I couldn't carry a tune in a bucket.

She is beautiful.

adele on vogue

I think that what my aunt meant was that I’m motivated to do things, push myself, and am not limited by my shape. Though there’s lots I want to change and improve about myself, I hope I am never blinkered by some ideal of perfection and that my happiness isn’t tempered by it.

It certainly has been; and the truth is I’m actually happier and healthier when exercising. I’m holding thumbs that that will be my motivation, and not some ideal about unattainable body shape. Though it is a hard dream to let die.


3 thoughts on “To be a betterer me

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