Do the Thing!

Sometimes, there's one little thing that makes you think about life differently. All the "what ifs" just seem to pile up, and every so often I find myself pulling one out and seriously pondering it.

This time, it was "What if I hadn't stopped dancing?"

I don't know who all reads this blog, so I'm just going to delve into some personal life shit right now.

Shit's about to. Get. Real.

I used to be a highland dancer. With the kilts and the swords and the bagpipes. I competed, I performed, I enjoyed it for about 11 years.  I went to DisneyWorld to perform at Epcot Centre, competed across Western & Central Canada, and even went to Scotland when I was 15 to compete in about a hundred (okay, over-exaggeration) highland games and perform at Stirling Castle.  I loved that part of my life, and at the time I had made some seriously amazing friends.

And then I got "too old" for it. Actually, that's false. I went away to university and ate my feelings.

Trying to get back into highland dancing is seriously tough. For one, you're constantly jumping. Some kinesiologist did the math and they determined that a 6-step fling is the equivalent of running a mile with your arms in the air and your core engaged the whole time... but this mile is run in like 3 minutes. Could you imagine? A 3-minute mile? Anyway, it's a cardiovascular gut punch.

Now try doing that after gaining 50 pounds and see how your unused leg muscles like it. Then try it again after gaining a hundred pounds, and then sit in the corner eating chocolate and chips to make yourself feel better for failure.

Nothing makes a wake-up call happen quite like not being able to do something that you did, moderately well, for eleven fucking years. It's depressing that I can't just hop up and do a 4-step fling, let alone a 6-step. Try as I might I can't even do basic moves because my muscles have apparently forgotten how to be muscles. They're just the layer between fat and bone that hangs out and says "Yeah, I'm still here, but what are you gonna do about it?"

Exercise. That's what I'm going to do about it.

My husband allowed me the purchase of a treadmill - and I say the phrase "allow" in quite the literal sense. It's a huge financial commitment AND it's just a huge commitment in general. To actually buy a piece of exercise equipment says "I'm going to fucking do this", and do this I shall. I'm starting small so as to not shock my body although going from the relative inactivity to any sort of activity routine was bound to shock it. I've been meal planning and talking with a personal trainer (who is, coincidentally, my cousin) and just trying to get things back into line so that maybe someday, even though I'm almost 30 fucking years old, I can do a fling again.

Once a highland dancer, always a highland dancer. Even if it's just at heart.