The following is written by a guest blogger. The opinions expressed here are those of the writer and do not reflect the opinions of Bob Lacey, Sheri Lynch or the Bob & Sheri show.
“I find it amusing. Men are supposed to be made out of steel or something…Oh God. I realize as a woman how lucky I am.” M’Lynn Eatenton, Steel Magnolias
“Bling bling, then I solve ’em, that’s the goddess in me” – Lizzo, Truth Hurts
The refrigerator, that stupid lemon of a refrigerator, was humming and buzzing like it was part of an enthusiastic Mardi Gras parade. I had been propelled from my bed by the anxiety that had woken me up and caused me to pace around the living room and kitchen like a hungry mountain lion. After my pacing, I was going to read because that always helps me relax, but there was no way I could concentrate on words on a page as long as my own personal “Tell Tale Heart” was taking place a few feet away.
I’m an old school insomniac. So, stalking around my sleeping house and dreaming of how I am going to blow up my noisy refrigerator isn’t anything odd, but trying to figure out what I could eat to give myself just the mildest case of food poisoning wasn’t normally part of my 4:00am routine. However, on this occasion, spending a day locked in the bathroom getting dehydrated seemed like a better plan than the alternative.
The alternative was actually showing up to The Goddess Games, a CrossFit competition that I had signed up for.. When I signed up, I had been younger and full of positivity and hope. In the seven days following filling out the registration and getting giddy over the prospect of a free tank-top, I had experienced, as the alcoholics say, a moment of clarity. Yes, I had realized that I was out of my depth and was going to get my old ass handed to me.
However, I had quasi-bullied my partner, who is also one of my best friends, into doing this competition with me after she had repeatedly said that she didn’t want to do it. If I didn’t greet her with the type of spirit fingers and jazz hands that would have made Rudy proud I knew that I wouldn’t have to worry about getting my ass kicked in a competition because she would have gladly done it for me.
I sent Abby, my person and the only one who would even remotely tolerate pre-dawn, anxiety-riddled texts, a couple of messages asking what foods she thought would be best for just a touch of salmonella, she groggily reminded me that there was a pattern to my behavior.
Abby: Umm, before we ran the marathon you were always coming up with ways to sprain your ankle…until you read that sprains hurt worse than breaks. But, you did it. You loved it, at least after the fact. And, you like this sh*t so much more than running. Everything will be fine. Good luck. I’m going back to sleep. It’s Satruday, ffs.
And, she was right everything was fine. It was better than fine.
Now, don’t get ahead of yourself, this isn’t the story of some scrappy Philadelphia underdog overcoming the odds and taking down the glistening blonde Russian mountain. No, we got our asses handed to us. When the final results come out, we will most likely be dead last.
But, that’s fine. It’s better than fine.
I am one of the most competitive people that you will ever meet. I am a gold star-fueled praise junkie. I used to believe that if I could just be good enough – at sports, school, anything, everything – that I could get my parents to stop using drugs.
That’s not how it works, by the way. But, my brain doesn’t always remember that. It still tells me that I am the poor, broken kid who has to do better than everyone to prove that I am not the poor, broken kid.
The Goddess Games was only for women. When I walked in I saw women of all different shapes, sizes, ages, ethnicities and fitness levels there and for the first time in hours I couldn’t feel my chest vibrating from my heart thumping against it.
I didn’t know them, but I did. Our stories were all different, but they were the same.
One of the opening speakers talked about her battle with depression and anxiety and how her Crossfit community had helped her. She said that we are always so proud of our physical accomplishments but don’t feel comfortable talking about our mental and emotional triumphs.
I realized that I had already won that day. I had showed up despite my brain telling me that throwing up everything but my shoes would be preferable to actually doing something that I loved and spending the day with people I absolutely adored.
I realized what an incredible privilege it was to, at 42 years old, be in good enough health to even consider doing something so physically taxing. I realized that I had found a community of people who are an amazing combination of strong and vulnerable, people who check on me, people who love me back from the brink. I realized that my partner is one of the toughest and most lovely people on the planet. I realized that my friends don’t like me any more or any less because of where I place in an exercise competition. I realized that I am truly not that poor, broken kid anymore.
And, I most certainly realized that as the patron saint of the broken badasses, Brene Brown said, “For me, if you’re not in the arena getting your ass kicked, I’m not interested in your feedback.”
Soshally Awkward
Sosha Lewis is a writer whose work has been featured in The Washington Post, Huffington Post, MUTHA Magazine and The Charlotte Observer. She writes about her sometimes wild, sometimes hilarious, sometimes heartbreaking past filled with free-lunches, a grimy sports bar, a six foot tall Albino woman who tried to save her teenage soul, felonious, drug addicted parents, an imaginary friend named Blueberry and growing up nestled in the coal-dusted mountains of West Virginia.
