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Dreams can come true you know!
Jul. 27th, 2004 12:20 pmOh Mary Katherine Gallagher. You have a line appropriate for every occasion.
At the risk of completely jinxing myself, but in the spirit of wanting to overcome such superstitious thinking, I will now write about my body. Specifically, the activity of it.
On Friday I rode my bike to Humboldt Park and back for a party. I was the longest I'd gone in quite awhile, and though I did get a little tired and pushed myself near the end, when I actually arrived at the destination both times, I felt exhilerated and caught my breath relatively quickly. I woke up Saturday morning wanting more. So I called up Limenal for a bike ride, and we decided to combine it with lunch and agreed on meeting at Roscoe Village, about halfway between us.
The ride there was tougher than the night before, in part because it was hotter, in part because my muscles were complaining at being used more than usual. (And it didn't help that I had to backtrack several blocks because I forgot only three major streets will get me across the river.) But after eating and visiting, I was rejuvenated and raced home along Diversey, squeezing between cars and intersections, feeling like a road warrior. I made it home in nearly half the time.
But it didn't end there. That evening, I was wanting more. My body wanted more movement, it had more energy. I felt like I was discovering new things about myself. So I went for a jog. A fcking jog. I haven't been jogging in over a year. I took Sophie along and she loved it -- trotting at the pace she always pulls the leash to go, heeling pretty nicely by my side, seeming proud to be out around the neighborhood, showing off with daddy. I went for about 20 minutes, walking for maybe 1/4 of the time. I ran again this morning.
In fact, every day since Friday, I've done something physical, worked out in some fashion beyond just going down the stairs to get the mail. And my motivation seems absolutely different than every other time I've done exercise in recent years. This feels more like high school when I regularly played tennis, went for walks and hikes, and went to dance aerobics class twice a week (that's a WHOLE other journal entry to write).
Usually when I get on some fitness campaign, it's to either lose weight or some weird guilt-induced way of faking myself into being a self-actualized person. By that I mean, I wanted to 'be someone who _____", but I didn't necessarily enjoy the activity itself, I just did it to be that person. Sometimes this can be helpful way of overcoming temporary lazyness (or career, like my recent attempts to 'be the person who writes the novels'), but as inspiration and motivation, it's faulty. If you don't want to be doing what you're doing, you won't do it.
But something changed about me and my body. I started looking at it. Paying attention to it. I inhabit it more than I have in awhile. Sure, I have had lots of moments where I can totally be in my body, often linked to sex, remarkably enough (since that's when I used to be detached). But on a daily basis, I rarely think about it. Now it seems like I'm waking up to myself. And it's not "I'm unhappy with my body so let's try to change it", it's more "wow, I like my body (and happy with my pant size), let's do cool things with it."
I think it started when I began designing and dreaming my new tattoo. Writing on my body, being in my body, constructing how my body will look. But it went to a whole new level when I came upon a way to pay for chest surgery. Suddenly, this thing I've wanted for four years (even longer than that, off and on), is not only within grasp of imagination, I'm making concrete plans for it to happen. I hadn't allowed myself to even fantasize or think about it because my internal critic always said 'what's the point? you're broke.' But, now because of this taste of reality, I have clear visions of how I want to look, how I will look. I'm excited by my body, which let me tell you, that is not a common thing in general, but I think it's even less common for queers, and another level of removed for trannies.
So having said all that, I'm extremely please to announce that on Wednesday, November 10th, I'll be at the surgery center with Dr. Brownstein in San Francisco. I just got off the phone from booking the appointment!
At the risk of completely jinxing myself, but in the spirit of wanting to overcome such superstitious thinking, I will now write about my body. Specifically, the activity of it.
On Friday I rode my bike to Humboldt Park and back for a party. I was the longest I'd gone in quite awhile, and though I did get a little tired and pushed myself near the end, when I actually arrived at the destination both times, I felt exhilerated and caught my breath relatively quickly. I woke up Saturday morning wanting more. So I called up Limenal for a bike ride, and we decided to combine it with lunch and agreed on meeting at Roscoe Village, about halfway between us.
The ride there was tougher than the night before, in part because it was hotter, in part because my muscles were complaining at being used more than usual. (And it didn't help that I had to backtrack several blocks because I forgot only three major streets will get me across the river.) But after eating and visiting, I was rejuvenated and raced home along Diversey, squeezing between cars and intersections, feeling like a road warrior. I made it home in nearly half the time.
But it didn't end there. That evening, I was wanting more. My body wanted more movement, it had more energy. I felt like I was discovering new things about myself. So I went for a jog. A fcking jog. I haven't been jogging in over a year. I took Sophie along and she loved it -- trotting at the pace she always pulls the leash to go, heeling pretty nicely by my side, seeming proud to be out around the neighborhood, showing off with daddy. I went for about 20 minutes, walking for maybe 1/4 of the time. I ran again this morning.
In fact, every day since Friday, I've done something physical, worked out in some fashion beyond just going down the stairs to get the mail. And my motivation seems absolutely different than every other time I've done exercise in recent years. This feels more like high school when I regularly played tennis, went for walks and hikes, and went to dance aerobics class twice a week (that's a WHOLE other journal entry to write).
Usually when I get on some fitness campaign, it's to either lose weight or some weird guilt-induced way of faking myself into being a self-actualized person. By that I mean, I wanted to 'be someone who _____", but I didn't necessarily enjoy the activity itself, I just did it to be that person. Sometimes this can be helpful way of overcoming temporary lazyness (or career, like my recent attempts to 'be the person who writes the novels'), but as inspiration and motivation, it's faulty. If you don't want to be doing what you're doing, you won't do it.
But something changed about me and my body. I started looking at it. Paying attention to it. I inhabit it more than I have in awhile. Sure, I have had lots of moments where I can totally be in my body, often linked to sex, remarkably enough (since that's when I used to be detached). But on a daily basis, I rarely think about it. Now it seems like I'm waking up to myself. And it's not "I'm unhappy with my body so let's try to change it", it's more "wow, I like my body (and happy with my pant size), let's do cool things with it."
I think it started when I began designing and dreaming my new tattoo. Writing on my body, being in my body, constructing how my body will look. But it went to a whole new level when I came upon a way to pay for chest surgery. Suddenly, this thing I've wanted for four years (even longer than that, off and on), is not only within grasp of imagination, I'm making concrete plans for it to happen. I hadn't allowed myself to even fantasize or think about it because my internal critic always said 'what's the point? you're broke.' But, now because of this taste of reality, I have clear visions of how I want to look, how I will look. I'm excited by my body, which let me tell you, that is not a common thing in general, but I think it's even less common for queers, and another level of removed for trannies.
So having said all that, I'm extremely please to announce that on Wednesday, November 10th, I'll be at the surgery center with Dr. Brownstein in San Francisco. I just got off the phone from booking the appointment!
