Back in April 2022, I started getting really serious about consistently working out. For the first time ever. Granted there was a very long period of time where I was super active as a dancer up until I was 23. I didn’t have to make a conscientious effort to move my body; I just always was. I’m an active person. I love rock climbing, walking, and playing sports with friends, though I am more than very bad. My vacations trend towards adventure with a lot of hiking or walking. Me out of shape is still very in shape.
Then I got into shape for realsies. Or at least, I was on the path. I was running six days a week and going to yoga at least four. In the span of two months, I lost 20 pounds and was in the lithest shape I’d ever been in in my adult body. I even ran a couple races and finished solidly just above mid-pack. Yay me. I hate running.
My dedication to working out floundered in July when I was constantly traveling. In August, my best friend and co-pawrent had a hip replacement, which took all of my time for four weeks and most of my time for an additional four weeks. A quarter of the way into his recovery, I seriously broke my hand—it’s still healing—and, being the fall risk that I am, exercise was even less possible. So working out became a thing of the past. My body started shifting away from lithe and lean because of course it did.
But I’m getting older. It happens. I actually really love it. Our society has such a negative view of aging, and it’s so common to hear people complain about how their bodies turn to shit after 30. I’m not experiencing that. Things are changing, 100%, but I’m choosing to have a positive *insert serious internal gasp here* look at aging. So much of what our body experiences is influenced by how we view something (I have sources on this if you want to call me on it because this is a science based fact), and this is particularly pertinent to aging. So often we blame aging rather than a lack of stretching, not exercising, not stimulating our bodies/brains, poor form, overexertion, so on and so forth. It’s easier to blame age. Thirty is not old. Thirty is still so fucking young. I suffer from a lot of health problems. If I don’t want to die in the near future, it’s extra important I take care of my body in any and all ways.
The physical effects of exercise are not all that appealing to me. I’m naturally thin. It’s just genetics. I can eat like crap, do nothing, and still never go over 150 pounds at 5’10”; believe me, I’ve done my best trying. Going from a ballerina body to that of a woman with hips was an adjustment. I’ve finally made my peace with it. So I don’t exercise to look a certain way. I exercise because it is the very best thing for mental acuity as I age. My biggest fear is losing my cognitive abilities and control. Combatting that starts right now by moving my body. As much as I hate admitting it, the other really important thing for women as we age… weight lifting. I hate it. I’d rather do cardio until I pass out.
In November, I got a bougie ass gym membership. If I don’t spend too many monies on a gym membership, I will not work out regularly. I HATE wasting money more than just about anything. It’s right up there with systemic racism and all that bad shit. Running and yoga are still really hard for me. Running: I have a propensity to stumble and fall; with a hand that is still fragile, I can’t afford to lose my dominant hand again. Yoga: there’s a lot of putting weight on a hand that can’t take it yet. So I started weight lifting, and I think I accidentally became a gym rat. It’s the easiest thing for me to do with my hand. I’ve always had strong legs because… dancer. Upper body strength, what is that? Because… dancer. What I’ve lacked in strength, I’ve made up for in determination. But I hate looking weak. One way to, at least, feeling weak is knowing exactly how much weight I cannot do.
Holy fuck. There have been some serious changes in the mere two months I’ve been not so consistently weight lifting. And it’s not just limited to doubling then tripling and even quadrupling the weight I was lifting at the beginning of December.
1. Boobs My boobs are not the same boobs I had two months ago. All the muscles in my chest and abs have changed things. Lifted two things. I’ve never been known for wearing a bra because my boobs have always been right about where they should be aesthetically for today’s societal beauty standards that I hate conforming to yet historically have. My boobs are so fucking perky. It’s weird. Now, I almost never wear a bra because why would I???
2. Sleep I don’t like to sleep. It’s the antithesis of productivity, yet something I very much need for my health and a foundational element in maintaining mental acuity. Damnit. Working out has helped my sleep. It makes me tired at reasonable human times. Like midnight or one in the morning rather than never. Physical exhaustion, enough of it, can actually counteract anxiety. Who knew? It’s also made me more prone to getting up between 7:30 and 8:00 in the morning… weird. I have an almost normal sleep schedule. I wake up, like, ready to go.
3. Protein So people have been telling me for years that protein is important. Ballerina mentality means I can and do push far past what most people find acceptable levels of physicality. Limits? What even are those? Fucking weird. If I take protein before I work out… I can lift a shit ton more with ease. Who knew?? Why didn’t someone tell me that?
4. New Body My boobs aren’t the only thing that’s changing. My entire body is different. I have arm muscles. Back muscles. Abs are actually starting to show and not in the ‘my fluff is aligned in a flatteringly deceptive way’ kind of thing. My shoulders are a bit of a “what the fuck?” every time I look in the mirror. My legs are sleeker. My fluff hasn’t started falling off yet because I’m not really doing cardio. A body I’ve never had before. A body I’ve never wanted. When I bend my elbows, my forearms can feel my biceps. It’s not the ballerina body I’ve always had. It’s a strong body. It’s foreign and alien. I’m trying to get used to it. I’m still shocked as all hell that my body can look like that… this. And, truthfully, I don’t know if I like it. I’ll get there. (Especially as I keep outlifting stronger and stronger men. That helps.)
5. My Body Feels Different Being in this body feels different, for sure. What’s really weird is how it feels when people touch me. This may not make sense. When people touch me, it feels like they’re touching me closer than ever before. Where there used to be skin, fluff, bone, it didn’t feel like there was a lot of me to touch. Now, there’s resistance when people hug or touch me because there’s muscle. It feels like they’re touching me more immediately. I’m autistic as fuck, so my sensory issues are probably in play here. But when there’s pressure on my body, my muscles have more feeling than the fluff and skin. Therefore it feels more intimate than before, like people are actually touching me rather than the buffer. I can feel people’s touch so much more intensely. In a lot of ways, it’s great… if I like the person. It’s also made me a lot, a lot, more sensitive to being touched.
6. Gym I finally realized the gym is just an age appropriate playground for adults. Once I do what I have to do for my workouts… then I can play. I’m very bad at weights and cardio and all that crap. But what I am good at: flexibility and balance. It’s so fun. I get to bounce around doing things I enjoy, and it turns out it makes other people ask if my sanity is intact because it’s so hard. Thanks ballet!
7. Orgasms I’m going to leave it at: Stronger abs, stronger…
8. Things Are Lighter Things are not lighter. I got stronger. That’s fucking weird. At 31, I am in the best, strongest shape of my life. My body also probably looks the healthiest it ever has. Ballerina bodies are beautiful but don’t exude health. I love picking up heavy, also heavy and awkward, things in front of men and them asking if I’m on steroids. They can’t do it with the same ease. And that brings me immense joy. I can also now move two 45 pound bags of dog food easily and at the same time. With six dogs, this is efficient, and I love efficiency.
9. Balance I hate balance because that means I’m human. I have a tendency to go balls to the wall with everything I do. I go hard, I go fast, and I go constantly. Rest is deserved by everyone. Except me. Lifting has taught me that I don’t have to feel like my legs and arms are falling off to get a good workout. I can workout hard and not pass out. I can take a day off or even a minute for a break without being an absolute failure of a person. I hold myself to an inhumanly high standard, partially because I’m only motivated by my own constant failure, partially because of trauma, partially because I’m just starting to realize how ingrained my ballet mentality is, partially because my mother. That standard probably will never change, and I don’t want it to. But lifting has allowed me to be okay with having a modicum of physical limitations.
10. Velocity of Change Under the fluff, muscle is growing and growing really fucking fast. My body does not change like a woman’s. It changes like a man’s. Maybe even faster. It’s weird. I’m getting an entirely different body really quickly. There is clear definition between my muscles, and that started happening within two weeks. It’s only getting worse, better, I don’t know, it’s continuing.
11. Twerking I used to be able to twerk. I can’t now. My ass has tightened up so much, I cannot twerk. No matter how hard I try. Oh lord, have I tried. Nothing. No twerking for me. I should have twerked for everyone because I’m a white lady in my 30s and no one would believe that shit. I could two months ago. Then my body changed. My butt won’t twerk anymore. I’m sad. (I think that’s the most I’ve ever used the word twerk in a paragraph, day, ever.)
bisous und обьятий,
RaeAnna