Because the Universe Is A Dick

Can we talk for a brief second about how frustrating it is to have your heart set on a goal, only to be set back time and again by things beyond your control?  Can we discuss hard work and sweat equity and a dogged belief that YOU WILL MAKE IT, only to have your knees (or femur or tibia) cut out from under you?  

Since September, 2011, I have been on a journey with Les Mills International as a Body Attack instructor.  I’ve talked about this before; how the opportunity dropped into my lap and I seized it, working harder to find my best self in this endeavor than I’d worked in memory, recent or distant past.  I flung myself into the process, and liked, no, ADORED, the changes I saw…and not just the physical ones.  I found a dedication and a passion that with an otherworldly force yanked me out of depression and sat me in a space of belief that even if I wasn’t where I’d imagined I’d be at this point, I’d be able to find a modicum of peace, sanity and tentative contentment.  

I started to LIKE the person looking back at me from the mirror.  

And then, because nothing, it seems, can ever JUST BE GOOD, I got a femoral stress fracture which confined me to crutches for three months and required another two of getting back to the level I’d left off at.  It sucked.  But I made it.  I pushed on and got stronger, and learned to listen to my body.  Learned to ease off when needed and to check my bull head.  

But learning, apparently, wasn’t enough for the universal ether.  It required that I demonstrate the ability to put that lesson into practice.  With another stress fracture.  This time, of the tibia.  And though I was quicker to admit to the pain and take care of it, it is taking longer to heal, and the twinges I feel are maddening reminders that “Whoawhoawhoa, maybe not just yet….”  

This morning, after a few weeks of slowly easing into impactful activity, I strapped on my neon Asics, and spent 30 minutes in the GGX studio practicing the newest release, which we launch in less than a month.  Four tracks in, underneath a puddle of sweat, I was forced to admit that all my conditioning, all my hard work, all my effort, was GONE.  

I am back to ZERO.  SQUARE ONE.  

I feel defeated.  My chest heaving and legs weak, wobbly and burning, I walked to my car and held back tears of frustration.  

Yes, get knocked down seven times, get up eight.  I fucking get it.  And of course I’ll keep getting back up.  But for the love of everything sanity-saving, why does it always have to be so goddamned HARD?  Why can’t everything just WORK?  The way it’s supposed to?  What new lesson is this?  

I have never been a person to give up.  I am persistent when all others are discouraged and accepting of circumstances.  I’ve never taken NO as an answer; was always taught that the most rewarding things come of hard work and determination.  So what’s the fucking point of this?  Why am I not being allowed to enjoy the results of my labor?  

I don’t know.  I don’t fucking know, and today, I don’t WANT to know.  Tomorrow will be for a game plan.  Today, I’m just going to wallow in the WHY of it all.