I had a physio appointment with Rugby Boy today. Among other things, he has poo-pooed increasing the running distance for a while. I believe I may have frowned at him. Honestly, I may also have said a couple of expletives. I guess I will not be completing the 10km Canberra Times Fun Run in September. Unless….
He assures me that good things come to those who wait. I reminded him I do not posses any patience. None what-so-ever. He also broke the news I have gumby feet, particularly the foot that thought moon-boots were fashion accessories and am going to invest in orthotics. Excellent.
I’ve come to the conclusion this evening that what I thought of as sheer determination and good old fashioned grit, must really be nothing more than a little bit of crazy. I hate not being able to rise to a challenge. My inability to leave a challenge well and good alone often sees me frustrated (at no one but myself). It consumes me, and can make me somewhat childlike. I’ve worked this out through watching my own Trolls. There are times when they become the most independent, determined and stubborn little monkeys. This brings me great pleasure – makes me proud. Part of me also feels sorry for them. With me its all or nothing – on full bore or don’t bother showing up. They inherited that gene from me. I know the years of frustration that may actually lie ahead for them both.
You’d think with breeding that the gene pool would have diluted it somewhat. Their father is really their only saving grace. There are those times, little glimmers – where I witness them leave well and good alone. Stop. Consider what is involved and walk away (these moments are few and far between). I smile and know that there are parts of the Devil that made it through the wash (I have possibly referred to these as their ‘lazy’ moments – on reflection, this quality will be good for their sanity).
Where does this crazy get me? Most places. Lately however, it particularly gets me in the Pilates studio. Like tonight. You and I both thought my nemesis was the Pike. Apparently not, not tonight. I didn’t go anywhere near that strange looking piece of equipment. Tonight Ms P (purely for her own amusement I have no doubt) had me doing push-ups. I am not a little person. I am at a multitude of disadvantages. Weight…bust size…butt size…the list goes on. Let me tell you now – there is a difference between the execution of Pilates exercises and gym-based exercises. Pilates costs more. Push-ups it was to be. I’m sure I looked like this:My hand placement was all over the shop. My head wasn’t looking forward. My bum was drooping (this however is its natural state, so beggars can’t be choosers). Ms P is a little person – quite a compact and delightful little package. She dropped to the floor (in her graceful, abdominals engaged way) to show me how they were done. She made them look so easy. And she looked fantastic doing them. B-I-A-T-C-H! Then she did them one-legged. Now that was just showing off.
I fumbled through four. Then she laid down the gauntlet. Ms P wants to see me do five – in quick succession. I see her again in seven days. I’ve already started to practice them. I’ve conned the Devil into helping (truth be told, I think he just wanted to show off to me that he can drop and pump out 50 without batting an eyelid). I’m going to do 10 a day between now and Wednesday. I am going to prove to Ms P that I can do them too. Foolishly, I know conquering the push-ups only brings a new challenge. I just can’t walk away. Maybe because deep down inside, I know I can do them. Eventually.
I don’t care much for push-ups.