Fact: The ability to run ten miles at a steady pace is not an accurate measure of overall physical ability.
This was the sad realization I came to last night when I went to my bosses barn to unload and stock a year's worth of hay for her horses.
To be fair, I asked how many bales there would be and for their approximate weight prior to attempting this feat. I was told that there was around 300 bales to unload at 50-80 pounds each, which I knew would be extremely difficult for me given my admittedly abominable upper body strength (and/or lack, thereof). Nevertheless, I committed to the potentially embarrassing adventure.
And oh, embarrassing, indeed! The first bale I attempted to move stood steadfast against my most laborious effort, not so much as a budge; it mocked me. Granted I felt a bit better after being told the bales tended more around the tune of 100 pounds, but given a chick the same size as me, maybe even slightly smaller, was throwing them around like bags of friggin' feathers, I was sufficiently mortified. I tried not to think about it, but damn, how exquisitely humbling. So much for my obsessive cardio training, it did me no good in this strength-centric arena.
To make matters even worse, due an extremely large lunch of chicken fajitas and entire basket of chips at my favorite mexican restaurant, plus a cinnamon roll I'd indulged in that morning, when it came to feasting on the pizza my boss had bought for our hay haulin' fuel I was still too full to eat a significant amount. Instead, I opted for a seemingly meager meal of two tofu hot dogs, pretzels, a salad and some yogurt. My boss was convinced I lacked strength because I hadn't eat enough, something I've both heard and felt for years; indeed, as the basis of my 'eating disorder not otherwise specified.' Regardless, this made me feel mentally inadequate in addition to my physical failings.
Well, I loaded the bales onto the conveyor for awhile, sometimes alone if I could get them up onto my hip or thigh which were able to compensate for my lack of biceps, but most times with much needed help from a friend. Finally I found my true calling, unloading the wagon by pushing the bales off the side to be picked up by the burlier haulers below. Rolling the bales end-over-end proved much easier as I employed my ample back, should and leg muscles to execute the task in lieu of my puny arms.
After unloading the first wagon I noticed that my voice was all but gone and I was starting to wheeze, so I popped two Benadryl and watched as the men, and my boss, unloaded the second. This morning when she tried to pay me twenty bucks I looked from the bill to her and back horrified, I felt like I owed her the $20, not the other way around! I most certainly had not earned this money, and I could therefore not accept it under any terms. Since she wouldn't take it back, I split it between two colleagues who had also come with me to help; championing the work that I could not.
To me, the lesson here was clear: for total body strength one needs not only a dynamic exercise regimen of both cardio and weight lifting, but more importantly, one also requires secure mental health. My issue is not that I don't eat enough, it's that I constantly worry that I don't. When I consciously make an effort to eat more and help boost my energy to support my workouts, I become petrified of gaining weight and immediately seek ways to justify cutting the calories back out of my diet. As such, I won't even attempt to vale my pessimism as I continue to lose hope of fully achieving the latter part of my conclusion, though I have made a half-hearted attempt at sprinkling some strength training into my routine. My circular pattern of irrational fear and anxiety surrounding what I do and do not eat has been a significant cause of suffering in my life, but it's also something I seek to continually remediate. Still, it's proving the most difficult habit-breaking exercise I have ever experienced. This issue has even prohibited me from starting my weight-loss book, an endeavor near and dear to my heart, as I feel that I have to beat this problem as an ending for the work. I must face the realization, however, that it may not happen, instead focusing on the more optimistic possibility that writing the book may yield it's own ending; I just have to start writing and see what materializes. Stay tuned.
This was the sad realization I came to last night when I went to my bosses barn to unload and stock a year's worth of hay for her horses.
To be fair, I asked how many bales there would be and for their approximate weight prior to attempting this feat. I was told that there was around 300 bales to unload at 50-80 pounds each, which I knew would be extremely difficult for me given my admittedly abominable upper body strength (and/or lack, thereof). Nevertheless, I committed to the potentially embarrassing adventure.
And oh, embarrassing, indeed! The first bale I attempted to move stood steadfast against my most laborious effort, not so much as a budge; it mocked me. Granted I felt a bit better after being told the bales tended more around the tune of 100 pounds, but given a chick the same size as me, maybe even slightly smaller, was throwing them around like bags of friggin' feathers, I was sufficiently mortified. I tried not to think about it, but damn, how exquisitely humbling. So much for my obsessive cardio training, it did me no good in this strength-centric arena.
To make matters even worse, due an extremely large lunch of chicken fajitas and entire basket of chips at my favorite mexican restaurant, plus a cinnamon roll I'd indulged in that morning, when it came to feasting on the pizza my boss had bought for our hay haulin' fuel I was still too full to eat a significant amount. Instead, I opted for a seemingly meager meal of two tofu hot dogs, pretzels, a salad and some yogurt. My boss was convinced I lacked strength because I hadn't eat enough, something I've both heard and felt for years; indeed, as the basis of my 'eating disorder not otherwise specified.' Regardless, this made me feel mentally inadequate in addition to my physical failings.
Well, I loaded the bales onto the conveyor for awhile, sometimes alone if I could get them up onto my hip or thigh which were able to compensate for my lack of biceps, but most times with much needed help from a friend. Finally I found my true calling, unloading the wagon by pushing the bales off the side to be picked up by the burlier haulers below. Rolling the bales end-over-end proved much easier as I employed my ample back, should and leg muscles to execute the task in lieu of my puny arms.
After unloading the first wagon I noticed that my voice was all but gone and I was starting to wheeze, so I popped two Benadryl and watched as the men, and my boss, unloaded the second. This morning when she tried to pay me twenty bucks I looked from the bill to her and back horrified, I felt like I owed her the $20, not the other way around! I most certainly had not earned this money, and I could therefore not accept it under any terms. Since she wouldn't take it back, I split it between two colleagues who had also come with me to help; championing the work that I could not.
To me, the lesson here was clear: for total body strength one needs not only a dynamic exercise regimen of both cardio and weight lifting, but more importantly, one also requires secure mental health. My issue is not that I don't eat enough, it's that I constantly worry that I don't. When I consciously make an effort to eat more and help boost my energy to support my workouts, I become petrified of gaining weight and immediately seek ways to justify cutting the calories back out of my diet. As such, I won't even attempt to vale my pessimism as I continue to lose hope of fully achieving the latter part of my conclusion, though I have made a half-hearted attempt at sprinkling some strength training into my routine. My circular pattern of irrational fear and anxiety surrounding what I do and do not eat has been a significant cause of suffering in my life, but it's also something I seek to continually remediate. Still, it's proving the most difficult habit-breaking exercise I have ever experienced. This issue has even prohibited me from starting my weight-loss book, an endeavor near and dear to my heart, as I feel that I have to beat this problem as an ending for the work. I must face the realization, however, that it may not happen, instead focusing on the more optimistic possibility that writing the book may yield it's own ending; I just have to start writing and see what materializes. Stay tuned.
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