I’ve been trying to get out.
I’ve been trying to unearth the right time.
I’ve been talking to dead fish by the river.
I’ve been talking to the celestial body, reigning orb of night.
I’ve been trading places with shadows.
I’ve been in hiding.
I’ve been throwing things out.
I’ve been investigating my patience.
I’ve been talking to ducks by the Brooklyn bridge.
I’ve been talking to the brightest star, singeing god of land.
I’ve been trading in shades of light.
I’ve been in hiding.
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’m not sure what possessed me to dig into the archives of Pennington_Hall over on Xanga land during the years 2006-2007. But I did. I also don’t regret a thing!
I know sometimes it’s hard to look back because we believe if we do glance towards the rear that we’ll lose sight of going forward. Other times we don’t look back because it’s ridiculously shameful to analyze your mind-state to the kind of person you were at the time and what decisions were made and how well you handled (or didn’t!) things and what words you chose and how little you knew about training and finally, how fat and out of shape you were.
There was a time where I was horrible when it came to training. I mean mentally and physically. I would skip the gym because of bad weather. I would skip the gym because I was angry. I would skip the gym because I was happy. I would skip the gym because I got into a fight with my boyfriend. I would whine throughout an entire set when the muscle itself was burning. I didn’t like the burn so I would stop in the middle of the set when it became difficult. I didn’t want to push through. I wanted to work halfway through not the whole way. I would often ask myself, “How are you going to get muscles when the tough gets going if you leave it untouched? ”
Half of the year I would stop going to the gym completely because I was simply unmotivated, depressed and lethargic. I knew how to discourage myself. Than to add fuel I was both immature and close-minded to everything surrounding fitness. I didn’t start out always loving every workout or every exercise of every set of every rep of every burn of every resistance making me fight for what I desire. I didn’t always start out every workout with confidence and I didn’t always want to fight for results to take place.
There was a time where I didn’t train unless my brother or a friend would come with me because I was super self-conscious and was unsure of my form if no one was there to watch and guide me even though I trained my brother and ALL my friends. I came up with the programs for us and tailored it depending on peak times, muscle soreness, lagging body parts and such.
Many times I would tell myself, “What makes training hard is trying to get muscles because that’s more difficult than being a cardio lollipop. Why am I even trying? It’s no wonder why everyone stops. ”
Oh, yeah, I considered myself to be a part of the Average Joe up until 2008. This was the first year where I went to the gym religiously. I didn’t take a half a year hiatus and from there a new chapter of Training Life began. I never thought to check up on things until right now.
Here’s a old noob entry.