I dust the cobwebs off my spandex and sneakers. This is where I document my progress. I want to take this moment to apologise to my muscles for whatever the hell happened to them the first day. Everyone is fighting their own battle. Turning up and giving it your best is better than sitting at home, wishing you were there. One thing I struggle with and I’ve known this from doing yoga before is that I forget to breathe! Falling for me is a normal, everyday thing. Stepping off the treadmill, my left hit the ground and let out a gigantic crack. I laid there pretty helpless for about fifteen mins, iced it and then decided to do arms and abs. Can’t miss a workout now, its week ten! Who really wants me to tell you each day was awesome and wonderful with butterflies and rainbows? No-one. My jaw doesn’t line up properly. It cracks and clicks and locks. Every day, anti-inflammatories for my jaw and pills for my heart. That’s my dad right there in this photo, and the little creature on his lap is me. He was a strong and active man, a body builder, managed a gym in Charlottetown. He came down with severe chest pains. Doctors at Halifax were baffled. He didn’t make it through the night. I was eight. And what do you call a girl who has only worked out twice in two weeks? ME! You call her me.
Prue Stent remixes this poem for The Lifted Brow portion of this issue.