Filed under: Uncategorized
I’ve pondered with P and B (meaning, Pruth and my running partner B, not Peanut Butter as in PBJ) the conclusion I arrived at, which is that I am fundamentally less physically fit than I look. Good metabolism, kind genetics paired with a fabulous yoga instructor and mediocre work out schedule have been generous to my ego.
But I notice that amongst our friends there appear to be great misunderstandings as to my capabilities.
People have notions that I can kick hardcore butt, I get repeated entreaties to go on Survivor and Amazing race, and I have to remind folks that while I do Tri’s they are SPRINT Tri’s and there will be no Ironmans in this life.
After sending out our Muddy Buddy pics, mutual friends said, "P is a really lucky man!"
I pondered these photos too. Who knew being pumped up with miles of adrenalin and slopped with fresh mud could be so flattering? I sure don’t look that good when I look in the mirror each morn!
The whole situation frustrates me, because contrary to the myths about my function, I am literally painfully aware of my limitations. I’ve sworn never to full-marathon because I felt my hips give warning after the half. Surely, it’ d be best to save some joint cartilage for my 50’s and 60’s. My feet and legs have endured every bruise, blister, and cut I could have imagined, and I’ll never be as strong as I dream of, barring any apocalyptic scenario that reduces us all to leave our desk jobs and fight for a living each day.
These arms look good, I am finally mostly satisfied with that-but I still can’t handstand with the older yogis in class, still can’t rockclimb as I dream of.
"Well", said B ,"isn’t that better than having the opposite problem?"
Certainly I realize that that would suck too, to be one of those whose spare tire never budges, whose muscles lay in secret below a discreet layer of padding - but who can motor diligently and tirelessly up a hill like mighty elephants, stampeding over the wimpy young gazelles.
I’ve been in enough races now, to never underestimate the slightly tubby and gray.
Performance is about endurance, not appearance.
Last weekend a bunch of maniacs ages 10 - 70 (!!) race swam from Alcatraz to Chrissy Field, and only 1 mortality was had. (peace be with her, a 51 yr old visiting Texan).
In one of my former lives as a dancer, we looked down on anyone who looked too good. If you spent a lot of time on your hair or gear you obviously weren’t a serious artist/athlete. Pride was taken in the holes worn through ballet slipper leather, callouses around half soles, tights and leotards worn thin. God forbid you show up in a new, color coordinated dance outfit, with an official dance bag - those get ups were for cheesy dance schools with stage parents clustered at the back door, hokey and glittery performances, and (gasp!) bad form.
Which is all very silly since who’s vainer than someone whose entire body is an expression of the tension between passions and discipline? Whose joy is to take the stage over and over? But we’d toss on our little ballet wraps in that carelessly calculated way. Hair never too perfect, hard-earned sweat, joint braces, and banged up gear in tow.
Besides, let me offer this analogy:
Would you like to eat mediocre food, fabulously presented, in lovely ambiance?
Or would you prefer luscious, textured, fragrant and delicious food served on a paper plate in a joint with bad decor?
I’ve had both experiences.
I know my answer in a heartbeat: gimme that damned, heavenly good food from the Taipei hole in the wall, Taco truck, street vendor, camp stove. Function , flavor has stained my memories and haunted me tantalizingly for years. My life’s memories are all steeped in food. All those beautiful places I have eaten forgettable, uninteresting food in photo-shoot worthy settings?
please. no contest.
Best I can hope for, is that my form is a temporary state, and with luck, in another stage of life to come, I’ll develop the discipline & stamina to be a woman of function.
No Comments so far
Leave a comment
Leave a comment
Line and paragraph breaks automatic, e-mail address never displayed, HTML allowed:
<a href="" title=""> <abbr title=""> <acronym title=""> <b> <blockquote cite=""> <cite> <code> <del datetime=""> <em> <i> <q cite=""> <strike> <strong>
