Times are tough. You need some respite. Welcome to Fireside Friday. Cosy chats, reflections and musings by the fireside. In this case, a little slice of my life, such as it is. Or was.
I have been in touch with my ten year old self lately. She pops in from time to time and she wants me to tell you something.
You may know me as the sassy and joy-filled minimalist wardrobe enthusiast. Which is true. I excel in that area. I have a structured, curated and well maintained wardrobe and am able and willing to dispense advice willy-nilly on that subject, and can talk until the cows come home about the importance of turning around the clothing industry and support you in not supporting said clothing industry in choking up landfills with discarded, unused clothes.
I’m also good at word games and know a lot about literature and a reasonable amount about other interesting subjects. You should definitely pick me if you’re looking for a teammate when playing Trivial Pursuit or Scrabble.
But I am more than that.
I have areas in my life where I struggle.
A Norwegian mental health campaign used the slogan “Nobody is just what you see”. I remind myself of that when I meet people.
When you meet me, you have no idea that I run like a snail and jump like an amoeba, and that I have deep emotional trauma about it. It’s not something I lead with when engaging in small talk, but it’s there if you scratch the surface.
When I was little, sports day at school was the worst day ever.
I would be last in every possible race. I would be the one who was picked last for any team and I was easy prey in dodge ball. These were the days when dinosaurs walked the earth and all results from school sports activities were posted publicly, on a board, with my name always, always at the bottom. Cue merciless sniggering and taunting from the other kids.
I promised myself that if I could help it, I would never perform any kind of sport or do any kind of exercise ever again, if I could help it.
I got over it.
I discovered that I love dancing and am rather good at it. Dancing was never a sport at school when I grew up, but as an adult, I learned to dance, and one thing led to another and I am now eagerly participating in various forms of exercise at the local gym, up to and including Functional Fitness. Yay!
When I joined the local gym (at the age of 65), I had forgotten all about my childhood trauma. I thoroughly enjoyed sweating and working out, but when I joined the Functional Fitness class, we had to form pairs to do tag team exercises.
I felt a silent sob rise in my throat and suddenly I was ten years old, panicking “nobody will want to be with me, I’m about to cry, please don’t cry, not now, please don’t cry”.
At first I didn’t understand this at all.
Here I was, enjoying myself working out, but my body remembered the emotional pain and was insistent about displaying it.
My head has chosen to move on and accept that I’m not quick or particularly agile, but my body remembers the humiliation. Every time we need to work out in teams of two or three, my body relives the familiar feeling of failure, and I have to shake it off.
I have not quit going to fitness class.
Nobody has teased me, everyone is super positive.
I always find someone to be with, and I have experienced nothing but encouragement and shared joy of working out from the other people.
Even though I am slower than the others, I have recently managed to sometimes jump onto the box when doing box jumps.
This is progress, and I am celebrating it.
I compete only with myself.
One of my favourite newsletters to subscribe to is James Clear’s 3-2-1 newsletter, and in one of the recent ones, he says:
“Compete externally and you compare.
Compete internally and you improve.”
That’s what I am doing. I improve every time I show up for Functional Fitness. And it’s fun!
And when my ten year old self pops up quietly sobbing, I tell her “Look, little snail! Look at how far we have come! We are running! We are jumping! We are getting stronger!”
And I think she has started listening to me. She doesn’t get choked up very often now. She says hi, by the way.
With very warm regards,
Jorunn Proud Snail Hernes
Enough about me. What about you?
What do we find when we scratch your surface?
Random and possibly good links
James Clear 3-2-1 Newsletter is not as good as they say. It’s better.
Some days I just crave Noodles
I’m at the level of being incredibly proud of the fact that I’ve re-learned how to get up off the floor unaided! 😳
I couldn't climb the rope. I couldn't hang from the bar. I couldn't jump the hurdles. I couldn't run the relay. But I once out-sit-upped everyone in my gym class (including the boys) and I have lived on that feeling for DECADES. Suck it, Ricky Pearson. 😆