Curse of the Cardio

So, for the passed two weeks, my trainer, Jay, has stressed I need to get into cardio routine. Logically, I know the man is right, but emotionally and mentally I hate it. I have never been the runner. For physical fitness tests at school, I failed any running relays. During recess, when friends would play tag, it took me way longer to catch anyone. That's why I never volunteered to be It. Lord knows, if I went walking with either my sister or father, someone needed to bring an oxygen tank or else I was on the side of the road gripping my side and huffing myself blue.

It was a psychological trauma when anyone would say the word run. I was defeated before I even started and worst of all, I just felt like everyone looked at me like, "what a shame" or "you lazy ass." Pretty much, I fell into the roll and never got out of it. Now, here was Jay saying, "C'mon, Che, you got this."

No, no I don't got this. I want to hide behind lifting weights and beating my muscles up. Leave my lungs and heart alone. Don't shake your head at me. Tell me you don't feel the same way when you get strapped to a treadmill. Ok, I sound like a punk, but breaking from a characteristic that has pretty much been you is not easy. Sigh.

I guess everytime I've ever made a valiant effort to run or do step or whatever other cardio exercise thrown at me, I have felt hedious. You heard me. Hedious. God forbid if I was doing this with my sister - Queen of the Long Distance Run. Ugh. I just could not keep up and felt useless trying to.

I know I am having a moment right now.

The only time I never felt this way was when I danced - alone. I can remember long hours of leaping from one end of my parents house to the other in graceful swirls. That livingroom was my stage and I owned it. Each step I choreographed was in sync with the music and I told a story with my hands and feet and body that I could never tell anyone else. I created a character that broke all the previous models of the lazy me that my family were more than well-acquainted with. In those moments, I could run and my heart didn't beat too quickly or my sides didn't kill nor did my lungs burn. That's why my calves looked the way they did. That's why my stomach was relatively flat for a big girl. And that is why I had a tabletop for an ass.

Now, you're probably wondering, "Well, Che, why don't you take that up again?" Simple, I'm ashamed to try. Can you imagine me leaping from one end of my home to the other? Creating a story with my hands and feet to the latest Kanye or Nicki Manaj joint? Sigh. I guess the Wendy inside me grew up and killed off my internal Peter Pan, because I more than just a Lost Boy right now.

You wanna know the real truth. I still do it. In my head anyway. Since starting the temple restructure, I began listening to songs and coming up with routines that harken back to my old days. Robin Thicke's "Sex Therapy", T-Pain's "Reverse Cowgirl", Alicia Keys' "Trying to Sleep with a Broken Heart" have all received a mental choreography. I'm just afraid to actually spark up the CD player, shove the couches to the side, and just get on my tip toes. Those puppies hurt.

I'm also afraid to look ugly. Ugh! I can't believe I said that. But it is so true. I feel so ungainly and even when I do the simple stuff Jay gives me, I feel like a fool. I sweat and not that cool Flash Dance sweat. It's more like the fat guys from the "Physical" video. The other fear that trumps the looking ugly thing, failure. I am afraid to eph up. I am afraid to make a mistake because then that's it - game over. And worst of all, I am afraid that I will go through this shame and still not get to where I want to be.

So, there you have it. Need cardio to drop the pounds, but I'm too vainly stupid to just deal with it. Sorry to be a downer, guys. Just, pray for me, y'all.