The twin size air mattress I’m sitting on I purchased brand new as a means of getting a good night’s sleep while settling into my new home in Williamsburg, Virginia. It was a temporary solution to my inability to properly fit a full size mattress and corner couch set into my 2 checked bags - they only allowed me 140 pounds total. Naturally, I made it comfortable by buying a bedding set that properly fit the slowly growing decor of my home - a blue and green theme magically occurred when I found towels that I liked. This air mattress slowly became a sanctuary for me. The first week in Williamsburg was spent with excess free time and a slew of stress that was bombarding me and the only place I could find comfort in my new apartment was on this air mattress - though I did make it incredibly inviting via good choice in blanket fabric and impeccable color selection. It was the only thing in my room that made me relax, sit back, and think about what had passed and what was yet to come - that is because my only other options were the floor or my two suitcases that had seemingly exploded due to overpacking and my inability to edit unnecessary outfit choices. I saw this air mattress as proof that I have come to an interesting place in my life where I have evolved from the cub scout who would rather chew off his left foot than share a tent and mattress pad with an annoying prepubescent male teenager who can only see Britney Spears for her sex appeal and not her artistic achievement, to an adult who needs nothing more than an air mattress and an appreciation for the intangible. I have come to the understanding that with life comes the learning experiences that will further shape the person you are. 

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I woke up with the windows open. There was a breeze that pushed them from resting much closer together throughout the evening - a means of temperature control via mother nature. The alarm was always the same - a strict 7:30 wake up time, with a strict 8:00 get out of bed time. The half hour was left at our disposal. The options of falling back to sleep, searching the sheets for the warmest areas, or discussing the day ahead were just a few from the list, though because of our empty stomachs, we decided to discuss what was on the menu. I had never properly cooked a meal that went past that of a simple pasta. I never identified with any cooking related individuals like Rachael Ray or Ina Garten, nor did I tend to surround myself with Wolfgang Puck types who would much rather stay in and start the stove than make an adventure to a local restaurant. I stuck to my Kraft crowd and learned how to boil water, in case I ever needed something that wouldn’t work in the microwave. Today, this would change. As goodbyes were said for the morning, I knew I had a task ahead of me. I was given detailed instructions on the contents of the refrigerator and what exactly was preferred to be on the final plate. It seems to be no daunting task for most, but slabs of chicken, raw and angry, were staring back at me once the door to the fridge was unlatched. Immediately, I cracked open my laptop and researched the best way to cook a chicken, learning the in’s and out’s of what seemed to be the most difficult task of the day. I spent the days surrounding this one continually proving my proficiency in adulthood, so failing the task at hand made me scared that I may lose my gold star. I had to do this perfectly. I quickly hit google and made sure that I was finding information from a source that wouldn’t lead me to serve up heated tire tread - I needed a proper recipe that was both delicious and delectable. I scoured the internet and found my golden recipe - chicken cooked on a pan. The simplicity astounded me; the ease enticed me. I quickly gathered the minimal list of ingredients from the cupboards and tossed together what seemed to be a legitimate meal. I properly cooked the chicken, leaving the center warm and moist, cut it into small bits and mixed it among a bed of spinach topped with Balsamic and Parmesan. Magically - I had become the chef I had never known was living inside of me. Through the situation I had found myself in - using every opportunity for positive impression that I could - I finally extended my chef’s arm and expanded my knowledge of the kitchen outside of the blue box. I had finally begun my culinary adventures and it would prove to be an aid for my dietary endeavors for ages to come.

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I was sitting in the break room watching Never Been Kissed for presumably the 14th time as the 7 month stint was coming to a close. My tiny, skinny, and incredibly Japanese cell phone had been abusively silent all morning because the main noisemaker of the device originated in an altogether inconvenient time zone. I had just begun what would be the most expensive and life-altering experience my life has encountered, but all I knew is that I wanted to be better. I was content with my hands, my feet, my fantastic - almost revolutionary - behind, and my smile, yet I had discovered that the muscular body I had at the height of my Irish Dancing career had been set aside and was slowly disappearing further and further into the past. The two guys to my right were those who influenced me in the manlier ways - showing me video game football, being content with eating 17 Corn Dogs, and performing multiple “straight guy” tasks on a regular basis. There was a pair of Perfect Pushup handles and a bag of McDonald’s - both of which they used and overused while I was busy chatting the girls up for the latest gossip. Yet, while waiting for my next skip to Neverland - every half hour on the hour - I decided to forego water cooler chat time and attempt a Perfect Pushup. I knew that my desirability points would rise the more taut the edges of my Deep-V’s would be. After five pushups, I was spent. I rested, and gave it another go. Ten. My arms were shaking, my chest was pumping, and finally, my phone buzzed across the room on the table, red light indicating that the time difference was finally easing up on it’s inconvenience factor. My heart was racing with excitement to share with this individual that I had officially “worked out”. This cycle of ten Perfect Pushup’s per day continued, and followed be back to the states where I located a weight training facility and attempted to fall into a rhythm of sporadic workouts. I had been inspired to focus more on my body. Obviously, the outside is only the wrapping paper to a fantastic present - the kind that you’ll find close to the top of the list that was turned in just after Thanksgiving by a needy preteen with good taste - but I was now growing into the idea that I can build a better body. I was beginning to see changes in my physique that I enjoyed and was finally seeing the adult in me blossom, rather than be muffled by my earlier inability to motivate myself enough to care. I was growing more everyday and learning more about my body, and that would eventually show me that I can take control of the things I want to change and leave alone the things I don’t.

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To be continued.

xx