Highlighter and Food

Being happy and hopeful makes me anxious. Experience has taught me that what goes up must come down. And coming down is rarely pleasant. I find being in a mild state of depression generally comfortable. I am listless but I get things done and nothing shakes my centre too much.

As you can imagine, this anxiety makes it difficult to enjoy the brief moments of sunshine.

Where, in the grand scheme, I am going through a hopeful phase, I am trying not to dwell on it overly much. I hope to thwart the Fates for a little longer and sit in the happy space a while longer.

Instead, I am focussing on highlighter. Magic, shiny face powder to dust along the tops of my cheekbones. It looks pretty. Lord Almighty, am I not obsessing over this stuff. And now that I want a certain highlighter, the drugstore doesn’t have it. Cue obsession.

Shiny cheekbones! Metallic soft shimmers. Ooh, green shoes – I think in a former incarnation, I was a magpie.

Also, I need to eat better. It isn’t that I like eating junk food – despite my regular claims to the contrary. Rather, I think I’m afraid of failing. Not failing at eating properly, I can do that. I’m more concerned that I’m building myself up to come crashing down.

Ah good, anxiety is back to keep me company. Well, that’s comforting at least.

Crisis of Faith

It’s been about 6months since I started boxing. 

The physical fatigue aside, which doesn’t really bother me anymore, I am facing a crisis of sorts. Yes, it hurts. Yes, I ache a lot, but I know I am capable of pushing harder – there’s a part of me that chooses not to. And therein lies the issue.

I have found that boxing is bringing a lot of demons to the fore. Most of the time its fine, but every so often it scares me, because I realise that the things that trigger me are a lot closer to the surface than I realised and the mental walls I have up, are not as strong as they need to be. It’s scary as all hell that a physical activity, that is inherently violent can make me lose control.

Why am I boxing? I don’t box to be fit, I box to fight. At my core, I’m training to hurt and be hurt. But still, why do I want to know how to fight?  It isn’t some desire to defend myself or other abstract noble ideal, but I don’t really know yet.

Do I honestly think I could be any good at it?  This is tricky. Being completely honest, and ego aside, I am dangerous potential. On the one hand, I’m fast, there’s a degree of natural talent, I’m stubborn and angry enough to take on the challenge of training (boxing is easy, training is the bitch) and succeed, and more likely than not, I have a fighter’s brain – I have a predatory desire to inflict pain, and receive it from a worthy opponent. There is glory in battle.

On the other hand, I have crippling insecurities, the kind that leave me like a deer in the headlights. I, inherently, don’t think I’m good enough. Inherently, I believe I deserve to be hit – I have subconsciously ingrained it that I should not slip, bob and weave or avoid the strike. Honestly, I will give you every chance to hit me, but know that once the switch is flipped, I am going for blood and you had better knock me out first.

And finally – what if all the good stuff up there, the mental desire to do battle, the fire and rage; what if its all hollow bravado? What if that mettle isn’t actually there?

The physical aspect of boxing is nothing more than the consequence of mental reserve.

It is my will power and my mind that determines whether or not I will ever consider myself a boxer or a fighter.

Frankly, I don’t know.

Skip Jump and a Hop

Of the various components of repetitive boxing training, jumping rope is probably my favourite. Running on the treadmill is my least favourite.

Skipping is not something I have to struggle with to learn, it’s something I have to repeat to get better at. 

I don’t recall skipping much as a child, because it was so long ago, before lolcats and the interwebs. I know I sucked at skipping with other people, but I generally don’t do well in group situations.

I have always been of the opinion that skipping is a better activity than running.I hold this opinion to be a universal truth. My universe. My rules.

Running

I’m actually not against running once I’m past the first kilometre or mile. I am finding running on a treadmill at the gym a little monotonous.

Running gives me a sense of accomplishment because there’s a destination. It also gets to a point of calm and peace once you go far enough.

Treadmill…no journey no destination. No zen. Just really crappy sports news highlights on repeat and watching my reflection in the gym window. Also, between the thirsty gym humans, and the incessant demand for a treadmill by other people- it sort of feels like the rat race to get nowhere.

I realise this sounds kind of whiney and I should resolve to stay on course. But honestly, running on a treadmill is the human equivalent of a hamster on a wheel.

Skipping

I used to skip a lot more than I do now. 

It was my warm up, without fail whenever I wanted to box. – this is back before the Karate Kid (my first instructor) and Sir Strange came into the picture and I was on my own. It was 20mins or 500 skips, depending on my mood and how badly I was heaving.

I enjoy skipping because of it doesn’t feel like work the way running feels like work. It doesn’t require much space and besides the rope, I don’t need any additional equipment.

Also, let’s not lie, there is something inherently satisfying about skipping for a continuous period of time and doing little tricks that looks really cool.

I also feel like I jiggle less when skipping as opposed to running. 

Having consulted Uncle Google on the very important debate of running versus skipping, turns out skipping is the bees knees.

Here’s the fun and possibly useless stuff about skipping rope I’ve learnt:

1. It improves stamina and endurance. – bounce, bounce, bounce,bounce. BOUNCE. You get it right?

2. Footwork – because you’re conditioned by the bouncing to stay on the balls of your feet, it sticks around after the fact. It becomes easier to stay light and fast. I’ll testify to this, I was a helluva lot faster when I skipped regularly.

3. Coordination. – so, and I didn’t know this, skipping uses more than just your lower half and with more involvement than I figured. Getting every part of your body to work together so you jump over an object that is moving towards you, at a pace that you individually set and can vary almost unconsciously change, takes a degree of coordination.

4. It becomes easier to throw  punch combinations. So, apparently all this coordinated bouncing helps you get your balance, weight distribution whilst moving, and doing different things with different body parts down hence combo joy. – my footwork is still shit, so that can fuck right off.

5. Skipping ropes will make useful weapons for unruly humans. Just putting it out there for the next family reunion…

Remember

I hit myself hard enough that my face is swollen and mildly, momentarily disfigured. I look like my left cheek bone has been augmented to look like a Star Trek alien, high and sharp. – I have a decent left hook.

Not even the dull, slick sound of flesh punching flesh restrained me. A clenched jaw means the bone takes the impact. It hurts less.

My right jawline is tender and swollen but its a weird place to swell. You wouldn’t notice.

Both eyes bear red smattered bruising on the eyelid and below my eye.My temples are tender from repeated strikes. A few places has light scabbing, I lightly broke the skin.

My eyes look sunken and dark, more than usual.

If I don’t wear makeup and concealer, I look abused. Even when i do, there’s an otherworldly look in my eyes I never thought I would see.

Communion of Souls

I have an excellent human CV. On paper, objectively, I am a successful adult.

I finished high school with the highest grades achievable. I was top of my year in three subjects. I was on a sports team, too. Wa-hey!

I got into a university course that was, at the time, still jeaalously screened and protected by the department. I graduated in the top 10 of my course.

I have a promising career working for a company whose reputation precedes it.

I modelled, and if so minded, I could still go back to it. I can, if I want, look like a doll, innocent with kaleidoscopic hazel eyes.

I belly dance. I box. 

I am funny and charming. I am witty in a way that is unexpected and sometimes cutthroat.

I have an excellent human CV.

I am also terribly lonely. Melancholy has the allure of seeing the disparate, savage and frail beauty of all of this.

I am past that.

I have never clung to the idea that I am someone wonderfully special. I am a mix of natural traits, nurtured abilities, and I me, good and bad. I think all people should have the same inherent complex and wonderful beauty that makes us human.

And yet, I find people I deal with so concerned with mortgages, romantic entanglements and the illusions of material success. These irrelevant hallmarks of a life well lived.

There are those rare people who call to me under the CV, who I would share myself with in exchange for the same intimacy reciprocated. But, we are so terribly restricted by ourselves and there can never really be a true communion of souls. 

I need to renew my faith in humanity because my faith in myself is at a low. And the person I would call to now, would not and will not commune with me. And I feel lost and adrift in my own misery.

But because I have such an excellent human CV, I have no business being sad, desolate or depressed. 

WordPress, get with it

I recently updated the WordPress app. I generally do not blog from a laptop or computer.

WordPress, what the hell? Updates are, theoretically, meant to improve the usability of the platform. What is this? 

Where is my preview button? I have to draft publish first? You want me to publish before editing and view later?

What’s with the enter button? I have to go to html to get a single skip line or I’m doomed to leading readers into thinking its a new paragraph. My last post was meant  to be a poem, but the new line became a new paragraph and the plot was hurled right out of the window.

Where did U go for underline? How do you remove underline – what problem did that solve?

Yay, the font looks pretty, so pretty. No! I don’t want pretty. I want functionality.