Our eyes are lovely
Our hearts are hungry
Under the stars
Blanket of stars
The city lights
Melts on mine
Swells on mine
A slow chorus
A slow chorus
It’s wonderful, in my opinion, to see how much of myself I could relate to in the character of the film Nymphomaniac throughout both volumes, from growing up and taking charge of every decision, single-handedly based on her terms, her rebellious nature, her moments of aloofness, her philosophy of lust and her avoidance of love, her emotions being thrown like a whirlwind into the act of sex, her destructions of interpersonal relationships, her views on society and how humanity can be summed up in one word: Hypocrisy.
So much of me, belong to this character and it astonishes me that a director has taken the time to put together the story of this woman who I look at as a heroine. I never once pitied or judged her although she managed to critique herself harshly and understandably so. But what I do take away from the film itself is, in society, I think people are given two choices. The first is you could play the game based on the terms and conditions of society as long as you’re faking happy to keep the image of conformity intact. Or the second: You can be an outcast.
I think her struggles are very real and of course society doesn’t let up on the notions of how she should behave, for instance when one of her bosses demanded she get help for her sexual addiction. Its constant questioning, steady debating on what’s right, what’s wrong and according to whom? The beauty is in how she stands up for herself in her ball of strong integrity despite the gnawing loneliness she possesses or those in the path looking to disgrace her light whether done subtle or forwardly.
She fights for herself because to put it simply it’s about survival.
I feel kind of bad when I push compliments off to the side by men who love women who body sculpt, bodybuild or weight-lift. Sometimes it feels like a defense mechanism to my strong hatred towards men. But it is what it is and it goes something like this.
It usually starts the same way, with an inbox message and a quotation mark smile, “You look great” and goes on to say “I always loved your arms, pec and back. You’ve been getting leaner without losing size and that’s great!” This should all be a good thing, right? It’s awesome to hear! It’s nice that there are people (actual strangers!) who have been following my training journey and I’m forever grateful. But I’m not going to lie and say I don’t have a problem with certain underlying issues. I guess I have trouble accepting the type of person and not so much the male gender in this case?
On one hand this guy we’ll call Han could stare at my photos all day for some reasons known but more reasons unknown yet rarely asks me questions about my life and when he does ask me, it shows he’s not interested in me per say. He’s another person who’s more into the fantasy of who he believes I am than who I am in reality. And generally I don’t respect people who don’t respect to learn anything about my life.
The second thing about this guy is just how he thinks lifting and gaining muscle comes easy for me. He boasts about me and my body as if he couldn’t be doing the same or more. When I ask him, “Why do you think it’s difficult to gain muscle?” He says, “Well, it requires a lot of work, lifting heavy day in and day out and eating right.” So he admits to the truth and I appreciate it and he has courage, but I bet he doesn’t realize how poorly he appears to someone like me.
He asks, “Do you think it’s easy to gain muscle?” I said, “At first I didn’t think it was easy to gain muscle. But now I know what it takes, so no, I believe anyone could do it and gain muscle. It’s like you said it takes a lot of dedication and discipline.” He goes on to say, “Yeah, I think that’s the difference. Some people can do the hard work and be dedicated but for some it’s too much. It’s one of the main reasons why I’m such a big fan of yours because you make it all look easy.”
Now don’t get me wrong, I adore anyone who adores me and would worship me at the drop of a dime. But what I’m saying is it’s hard to respect someone like this as a person, probably because I’m judgmental or an asshole? And I’m aware it’s my problem and not theirs. As a result, I guess it comes easy to shoo away the compliment than hold it to a higher regard because I like someone who gives a shit about my life and believes in working out hard “physically-speaking” as oppose to being a bystander and idling watching, being fine and dandy settling just to be a fan.
Before I begin, I rummage with my eyes a cold grill with the intent to feed on anyone who steps in my personal space. Anyone who glares at me from a distance gets the fuck you look as well because I share this gym with the rest of everybody. I forge my right to be here by the numbers, by the purpose of colossal concentration, by the visualization of the day and the body action at night. I grip the steel of the dumbbell and I surge with immeasurable power before a single rep has been executed or an exercise exercised. It all starts in the mind.
It may be the luck of being a woman, or a dependent on the man, who stands in front of me, but, there are times where I display my puppy dog eyes big and wide and remain uncomplaining, waiting by a bench like a sit dog sit until their hearts soften and they pass the bench along to me entirely without a moments hesitation. I thank the stranger and smile with a queen’s happiness and during his training session I’ll boost his ego (and he’ll train harder) for being nice to me by staring him up and down attentively while he strengthens his temple.
Now I’m seated with an angry face and underneath my baggy shirt from the mirror I can see my muscles working, how glorious they look, tenacious, pumped and embellished. To the left of me, I gaze at my arm in motion, performing an incline bicep curl nonchalant as taking a selfie in public. To the right of me, an array of men peers onward with a combination of riddled emotions and contemplated expressions.
And in the background, there’s a woman highly amused by the numbers on the weight I’m lifting. She can’t for the life of her stop looking at my face and the unleashing of effort that cannot be contained. She can’t stop watching the way I grate my lips with violent teeth noticing how my mouth turns sweltering red when I come close to failure.
Who knows if it’s out of delight
she observes or
if the very thought
of my passion
gives her nausea
through her eyes?
I’ve recently written a post about the positives of Planet Fitness, but this entry is dedicated to that one negative issue I’ve happily come across more times than I care to share. I find it comical how the people who market and advertise lustfully say Planet Fitness is indeed a judgment free-zone forget to mention that it is a judgment free-zone and gymtimidation is alive and booming in the gym.
takes place by gym members
who train IN the gym.
I had quite a few unpleasant experiences in many different gyms, but in particular, Planet Fitness takes the cake not far from where I live (there are 3 locations around). Now I assume this gymtimidation occurs because these machismo men are machismo men. Most are Hispanic and some of these Hispanics prefer their women to be, look, smell like flowers and femininity. They don’t appreciate my snot-rockets; scratching my crotch or watching me lift the same amount as them or more.
I had a few machismos wait until I was done with my set as I saw them staring me down from the peripheral while performing chest presses and as I set down my dumbbells took the opportunity to say, “You want to look like a man? Why are you lifting like one? You’re going to have very big muscles if you continue your path to lifting heavy.” A few times, I’ve made sarcastic remarks or just simply nod my head and continued to train much harder so they could feel the force within my space until they became bothered and upset they’d leave my presence.
Tonight in the middle of my shoulder pressing, rowing and supersetting push ups on the bench I was moving on to the next exercise where I was stopped short because I couldn’t find the rope I needed and became quickly surprised by the pleasant experience I received in Planet Fitness since there’s only been a few.
I actually had a group of men, all individuals and perfect strangers trying to help me out to get an attachment for the Face Pulls without my asking. All despite my trying to bully a girl for her rope attachment assuming she wasn’t lifting anything at all (and performing an exercise she doesn’t need yet because of her high body fat) and despite blurting out SHIT loudly in some guy’s ear when I realized he was about to use the rope attachment I needed; these people decided to help a bitch out!
Luckily and gratefully, a man was watching the entire deed unfold as one Hispanic guy suggested using another attachment and another looked around the gym though I never hinted for him to do so, but in the end, one guy wrapped up his sets rapidly and signaled for me to take the rope attachment and we exchanged the respect of head nods while we both went on our way.
For a moment, I forgot I was in Planet Fitness and was astounded to receive some love from other fit men. I guess, I shouldn’t assume that every time I clock in and out of PF I’ll bump into creeps, pricks and egotistical men who aren’t into womanly boys and women lifters.
This evening was a good night with no form of judgment placed or gymtimidation within sight and I had a tremendous workout destroying my body with extreme focus to no end. I just wished advertisements wouldn’t lie to people, especially since some people may not be able to rise above the stupidity of pricks or take the higher road of not smashing their face in with a fucking dumbbell.
A lot of times I train for my mind, probably more so than I train for my body. I also train for pain. I train for anger management. I train to make sure I’m productive. I train to remain disciplined. I train to be committed about something because I’m not committed to a lot, besides personal growth, writing, poetry, education, reading and so on. I train for therapy. I train for strength and power. I train to put fear in people when they look at my gigantic arms. I train for every time I felt weak in childhood. I train and train like a locomotive.
I used to train for the pump all the freaking time when I first started training back in two-thousand and three. But this proved more for my ego and less to get me anywhere as far as gains were concerned. Again, I train more for my mind and anger management than anything else. I don’t eat good nutrition half of the time (unless I’ve made a conscious decision to do so for a lengthy period) although I would want to be more aesthetic looking at some point or other. That’s another topic however.
This ties into how, who, what, where and when someone can’t understand why I may take a cup of caffeine to my system and go sixty straight minutes of cardio only to perform sixty straight minutes of weightlifting or more to no end. They can’t understand why I do this. They’re too busy assuming I wouldn’t be growing because I have no fuel in my system. This is a load of bullshit! Of course one can grow even though you didn’t eat beforehand. What a load of crock shit!
It’s easier for someone to judge and say, “Oh this person is doing such and such wrong” as if they had all the fucking answers in the world to why you train and how you train and when you should train and whatever the fuck else. Fuck them! Half these people have never picked up a dumbbell in their life or know what polyunsaturated and monounsaturated fats are. So a BIG FUCK YOU TO THEM!
I like to push my mind and body to places without food or water or music at times because I don’t want to be comfortable training in only one or two ways. I don’t want to feel like I need to be on a full stomach in order to lift heavy or collect PR’s or do better rep-wise then the last time I did my routine and jot it down in my book. Why would anyone want to train comfortable all the time? How could you not long for an exit out of the comfort zone from time to time or every single time?
Many people don’t know how to mind their fucking business when it comes to you, how you train, what you eat or why you do the things YOU do. Yet they’re too busy observing everything you do because they wish they could DO what YOU do.
They wish they had the ongoing motivation, passion, desire and the discipline to do everything you’re striving to perform day in and day out. So whenever you do your own thing or turn your back on conventional methods, believe you me they are there to hunt you down waiting for the chance to lash at you and jump down your throat with how wrong they think you are because they’re a bunch of soft penises.
If you ever come across these unkind people just ignore them. They don’t do anything to assist except help to make you vent on your fitness blog like me. I’m very glad I never listened to anyone in my life. I barely care about other people’s opinions and perceptions of me. There are plenty of people who couldn’t handle my life or my fucking training. As long as I know myself, why I do the things I do and am comfortable doing what I’m doing then all is right with me and the world.
They don’t need to exist in your world if you don’t allow them to, but let them continue to observe your life and how you train because there’s no doubt about it they’re making your importance valuable in their world.
The blood results came back and I became crippled with the news, “You’re pregnant.” My suspicions were true along with that Tiger dream, the one who magically fixed a uterus back together. I hung up the phone and backtracked. Everything made sense: Breasts filled with voluminous rage, cravings I kept in denial like a drug addict and my stomach rising like yeast. The sinking feeling of depression, the steady exhaustion, hyper sexual appetite and forgetting about the gym was soon to be up for debate or a choice to make, one that follows instant termination.
Which came first: The slip of a faulty IUD I’ve had on for years or the pregnancy? I’m uncertain and so is everyone else. And if 9 weeks and 2 days weren’t enough time on my plate and in my belly I had to head into the emergency room to figure out if the pregnancy was in fact in my uterus or if it was going to be considered a very dangerous: Ectopic pregnancy. I spent the entire day looking at people with different diseases in the hospital and was sure to contact a disease from the man who was vomiting next to me.
And no matter where I went I had to deal with every single nurse and doctor and even my own bizarre GYN stating how I can have this baby if I want to regardless of the small facts like the percentages of miscarriages that derive from the IUD and the first 20 weeks of pregnancy and regardless if the IUD somehow could penetrate the baby itself at some point or another. It seemed like everyone assumed I’m going to have this baby knowing that the reason why I opted for an IUD in the first place is because it has a 99% effective rate without hormones. But somehow I managed to be that 0.01% to become pregnant. Is it safe to say the downside to being healthy is being fertile? (And I know there are women out there who can’t have kids or are trying to, so it seems with that last statement I’m ungrateful. I assure you I’m not ungrateful.)
Last night in my honesty I told my aunt about the pregnancy to which she was ecstatic and made me call my mother who cried out of joy for something she could look forward to instead of dying in her nursing home bed who told me to call my brother to let him know he’s going to be an uncle. They were all just making plans and seeing a future I didn’t. I never mentioned to them that I have an appointment for termination. This would break their hearts. Now I’m to lie to them for the next few weeks until I feel they can bear it. The only person who made a mention of why I’m leaning towards not having the baby was the Indian lady who was probing my vagina with the sonogram dildo. But I presume she was just a nosy woman or just needed not to feel as awkward as me having that camera dildo in my twat so she became nothing less than a chatty Kathy.
It’s absolutely crazy how people don’t live your life or care to see things from your perspective yet they want to tell you that college isn’t important that having a baby is because you’re not getting any younger and there’s a time limit. A time limit for whom since I’m of no concern to them? It’s insulting and it’s basically telling me, “Your life doesn’t matter. Just have this baby so we the family can live for hope in the name of the future.”
Is anyone truly prepared to have a kid whether financially, emotionally or mentally?
I’ve never really gave it much thought until last week. I also never gave it much thought to have a child because I’m not at a place where I’m pleased to be. How would I look like having a child while still living with my roommate? How would I handle being burdened in my own life and than to bring that forth to my child even if it wouldn’t remember in the early part of their years? I don’t have family or friends who would be able to babysit for me. I still want an educational degree that I’ve earned. I want and need more money. Surely, all these things can be excuses because there are plenty of people who can do it all or do their best. But it’s not for me. Not now. But I realize that no one can be prepared for having a child. It changes the complete fuck out of you. I couldn’t imagine having it at this time.
I was struggling with the thought of being a bad person (something I believe I’m truly not) because not allowing this baby to live will somehow make me a bad person. Still I did my best to not have a repeat of a second abortion that took place 9 years ago when I was put to sleep. I was young, scared, full of tears and very emotional even after I dealt with it. Still 99% is only 99%. Maybe when I go in this week to take care of the final duties my punishment is being awake while they perform this 3-5 minute procedure.
And in some weird way I feel like I probably deserve it even with the precautions I took.