I knew something was strange every time I laughed or tried to do a sumo deadlift and tinkled myself. I knew something was strange when I felt like I had to urinate faithfully around the clock. I knew something was strange when I suddenly started to experience pain during intercourse. In the morning upon waking, there’s a dull pain in the center of my stomach that stretches deep into my pelvis. It plants itself there like a kentia palm. At the same time, the mid-lower back pain stretches out to the side wrapping itself around my lat, not to mention the top of my buttocks and hips.
It took years to understand what the hell was going on with me. Why I felt completely exhausted after sleeping 8 hours? Why my moods were shifting quicker than I could say bipolarism? Why its been so easy to abandon my fitness goals and sessions? Why did I feel like I was trying to walk through brain farts daily? Why all this pain?
Thankfully a visit to the handsomest urologist gave me his recommendation to see his friend who’s also a urologist but deals with women’s sexual health. It was there where I was greeted by a real life perky sitcom character Karen Walker. She checked out my vulva, took my urine through a catheter on the spot (with my permission of course) and complimented me on my Kegel. Then she said, “You have Pelvic Floor Dysfunction. Don’t worry. It’s fixable!” I was prescribed a physical therapist who specializes in PFD. Also, testosterone gel, which is made by a chemist (therefore making it extra tailored and super expensive) for my vulva.
Coupled this PFD along with my growing fibroids (which I was told to ignore if they don’t grow) and it’s no wonder why I’ve been wanting to pull my hair out of my goddamn head for so long. My fibroids have grown to the point where they have taken my uterus out of its place and is now sitting behind my bellybutton. The clusters of fibroids have enlarged my uterus making my stomach protrude. On my medical record it states that my fibroids are well into 14-16-week pregnancy. So, I’ll see a surgeon next month. God willing.
Well, for the longest time, I thought I was secretly dying. Turns out, at least for the moment, I’ve been on a tumultuous ride with hormones. Keeping a positive outlook has been extremely challenging. I can’t tell you how long I felt hopeless and completely isolated from the rest of the world. Of course, I kept praying for answers, for guidance and for the right doctors to come in my path, so I can get the ball rolling. My prayers have been answered. Things are rolling. I’m finally not holding my breath anymore.
I’m moving forward with new breath within me.
It took me a good length of time to warm up to your hands and be open to your kiss. I never imagined the day. That one time when we took time off from seeing one another – a month and a half – I had far-reaching sentiments wrapped in a box with ribbons that glowed of reasonable expectations and hopes. I loved you.
And on that altered afternoon when I came to visit, I went with every intention to slowly pull away the gift wrap that was you – emotionally speaking. I fancied to display how much I missed you and your darling face and your scent I consider home. I looked forward to quality time and a world of welcoming love same as usual. And perhaps it was my mistake – expecting you to always be on the identical page as mine? We were disconnected.
And my eyes were wide open to your loud actions and your words failed me because they were of a sexual nature and your hands no longer defaulted to being warm. They were indifferent now. And with an energy of a wolf, you came onto me and unwrapped my clothes with hungry claws leaving me bared for a moment just enough to capture the view of the voluptuous latina you glared as feast.
You walked me to your white door and pinned me against it with heavy aggression and kissed me with the same force with a tiny dollop of love inside your breath. And you groped every part of my meat and ate from it as if you were in a state of panic, of pure desperation, of a teenaged boy whose hormones got the best of him – just like a wolf taking over its prey.
And boy, I wish I left. I wish I could take my heart out my chest and stomp it onto the ground until there wasn’t a beat left – how it hurt like the day I was five years old and my mother first broke my heart with parental neglect. Because between loving you and the three hour trip it took to travel made even my thoughts feel small until they disappeared like smoke, like white lies, like happily ever afters.
And in this instance, you didn’t understand – how my sensible feelings have changed and how they buried themselves in deep despair and how anger created a shift in perspective; how these sentiments were relentless and at the same token – unforgiving. You didn’t realize the crime being committed; the way I was dramatically falling out of love with you; how this time when you cupped my face, kissed me deep and served me pleasure in the bedroom I was gone. I checked out emotionally and felt like freedom contained in the wind.
It was easy to become the watcher and observe from the outside in how you made me feel – like a woman selling herself off Hunts Point Avenue, like friends with lewd benefits. There was a dangerous courage in your behavior because of all the history that came before and will continue after us. I’m in disbelief and I can never feel the same way about us again. However, this has been a long winded way of saying: I’m not a maximus call.
I had these crazy doubts after the shift in hormones over the course of a few months. I felt like I was held hostage by life for a moment while I struggled to regain my whole self again. It’s now safe to say I’m no longer tear-jerking myself over Grey Anatomy episodes or telling my Partner in Crime I want to marry him as soon as possible. I may be back to what I know as my normal self, the kind who does none of what I just mentioned.
Okay so my body’s chemistry threw me for a loop and for a long period of time I thought I would just continue getting fat while losing hard-earned muscle. I thought I would continue eating sugar and wanting to make out with Coke and Tang on a regular basis. I thought I would never be motivated to workout once more let alone find my inner beast to blaze me back up.
Then one night I said, “Fuck it!” and decided on Monday cardio, and on Tuesday I did even more cardio, except I refused to be a cardio bunny and leave the gym without caressing and groping the weights. Training arms seemed like a good place to start to see if I could get over my foolish uncertainties of being a weightlifter again.
I wrapped my hand around the dumbbell and performed a One-arm Overhead Tricep Extension and the motion flowed gracefully and every rep became about cherishing each contraction and cherishing the blood surging through my veins and cherishing the pleasant out-and-in-and-in-and-out body experience. Without a second thought I moved right into barbell bicep curls and lifted the weight passionately as everything I put my heart into.
All in all it came back to me like riding a bike and I couldn’t ask for anything else to accompany me in this moment. I became alive as day and any thought of pacing myself with exercises, equipment, reps or poundage went right out the gym entrance along with every one of my insecurities and qualms. I was back at my one true home!
From school I started to head straight to the gym and in my mind I’m in a dark corner in the center of the room because my ego places me there. I have an imaginary audience yet I tune out the real life folks all around me in the gym like an awful lecture coming from a married-in uncle who tried to molest me once upon of time by cold lust. I. Just. Tune. Everything. The. Fuck. Out.
The music that was blaring in my headphones suddenly vanished once I positioned my feet under the barbell square in the middle with a stance almost narrow. I make no fancy flailing or martial arm movements and I make no thunder roar like a powerlifter. I remain powerfully silent, looking at both sides from where the stained rings are on the barbell steel and with one hand over and the other hand under I roll the bar so it pushes the excess accumulated calluses towards the rest of my palm so it fits snugly to one side and won’t rip open.
I look straight at the mirror but I don’t even see myself in it. I can see clothes. I can see broad shoulders. I can feel glorious energy multiplying. But it’s time to get into that low squat and it’s time to pull the barbell up and on my shins, time to maintain focus to deadlift with my traps, lats and entire posterior chain on mental command so my body does exactly what I desire. I nail it. I nail it. I nail it. I nail it over and over and over again. I’m happy like a kid in a candy store like a woman who just achieved her first orgasm by the tongue of a man like a fat kid with a buffet of food. HAPPY!
At certain moments I pulled and held my breath and then I started to see myself in the mirror. I could see how ugly I look with a deadly mixture between being a woman, a man and a beast. I felt my abdominals cave in and tighten itself within as if I were about to get hit by a baseball bat and I continued pulling. During one of the reps I felt pain bordering by the side of my spine and my mind in quick fear blinked the word danger.
I felt my fingers fatigued and go into a frozen state while my forearm stiffened like I imagine a snake’s body would if it were to be lit by fire and around a tree bark or some human’s neck holding on for treasured life. I felt my body like this many times before trying to go against me by breaking form.
And all I know is this is how I feel like when I’m all up in Kanye West’s song when he says, “I’m in it and I can’t get out” except he’s talking about orgasms and the lovely things that come along with sex. However that’s exactly how I feel.
I’m in it and I can’t get out of the gym because it’s my strength and my therapy. It’s my happy place, my go-to home! The gym is where I go to deal and/or get rid of my doubts and concerns. The gym is the place where I continue to forge my character. The gym gives me my sanity back. It’s my constant haven, not to mention it’s an orgasm away from an actual orgasm.