I hate my body

Ok, no apologies for the title this time. I've always hated my body. I was always the weenie kid, the last picked for sports, too skinny, too fat, too weak.

Or at least I've always believed that. I remember going to the beach when I in high school, wearing a tee shirt even out body surfing partly because I didn't want to get sunburned but really? I was ashamed of my body. I thought my soft little belly was fat. I knew my scrawny little arms were weak. I didn't want anyone else to know, and it didn't occur to me that the effect of wearing a tee shirt was to announce as loud as I could: "Hey everybody, I'm ashamed of my body!!"

I'm an idiot.

I'd love to have that body back. I could lose those few pounds like nothin'. I could put some muscle on that resilient little frame, I'd be so happy if my body today was like it was then.

And I suppose in 15 years I'll look back on this body now - 30 pounds overweight, still not much upper body strength, and yearn for these days too. That's the beauty of self-hatred, how ever bad it is, you know it's just going to get worse.

I remember a couple of times, being stuck into some kind of remedial PE class. Loser class. Guess what? They don't really try to help you become a winner in loser class. They just make sure you know you're a loser. I have so much more sympathy with people who didn't do well in academics for my experiences in PE. How can you possibly expect anything from people when you stick them into the Loser class?

In fifth grade, though, I managed to harness my leg power and Climb the Rope. All the way up. Touched the top. I knew I was in the fifth grade loser class, but that was ok. I had climbed the rope. It was when I realized that the fifth grade loser class was lower than my neighbor and sort-of pal Jimmy Herringer's fourth grade normal class that I gave up.

In high school one year they made a remedial class for us losers. We went to the weight room every day. I think the teacher really hoped we'd make some progress. Which is not the same as helping us make any progress. We mostly fucked around and made fun of the worst losers. Guess what? The pecking order is even stronger at the bottom than at the top. You think people fight and struggle to be the top dog? You don't even know how ugly it gets when you're fighting to not be the bottom dog.

And over the years, I've tried: martial arts (Korean Tae-Kwon-Do, Brazilian Capoeira, Thai kickboxing), best-seller book exercise programs, "Boot camp" exercise class, and dozens upon dozens of self-generated exercise plans. Spreadsheets to track progress. Exercising with a friend. You name it.

But I've got a new plan. Anger and pain. I'm going to punish this body, I'm going to make it suffer for making me suffer over the years. I'm at war with my body. I went to the gym on Sunday and worked my legs so hard they're still sore today, Wednesday. I love that. Today I busted on my abs, doubled the count on one of the crunches I do and added a medicine ball to another one. I did bench press until I had total failure, I had to humiliate myself and wriggle out from under the bar and wrestle it back on the rack.

I'm gonna hurt tomorrow. I'm going to like it.

I'm an idiot.