Image: Annie Konst
Nature called. She said ringa ding ding bitch time to get back into your body. We’re doing weightlifting, we’re doing pilates, we’re doing reading in the morning
do you even remember walks they’re outside in the sunshine you might sweat a little bit chop chop
I struggled to open a door the other day.
I’m heaving this door open like it’s the entrance to a castle. Like maybe there’s a pulley system I’m missing somewhere? I swear to god I disassociated right before the half-turn-momentum took it all the way. I saw myself from a hundred feet above, in heels, crouching, like I’m about to challenge someone to wrestle me.
When I’m avoiding my bodily maintenance -
things like regular stretching, challenging myself in my exercise and improving a discipline not just showing up, planning big group friend dates, writing regularly, making art, the list goes on - I am truly the worst version of me. Grumpy, in a lot of pain, and my neuroticism is singing a high note. It’s just that my bare minimum is a long list. It’s so long I’m going to spare you from reading it in case it gives you secondhand anxiety. I think about all the things I need to do in order to function and feel good and find myself thinking, “ I can’t believe I have to live with her (me) for the rest of my life - she is so high maintenance.”
After being humbled by a door, I took myself to the boxing gym a few blocks away from me. They offer pilates classes that make you sweat but not see god.
Ab exercises mostly teasers and boat positions. Arm exercises performed kneeling. There’s a tiny sign against the brick of the yoga studio that reads in white neon “believe in yourself.”
The list was created after I realized that healing myself was not a mental exercise but a bodily one. We’re closer to animals than computers / are animals and are not computers. Surprise - it’s a struggle to stay present when I’m in a high level of pain every day, and I am. Committed to healing myself I dropped the killer cardio workouts and high intensity weightlifting. Instead, I did yoga. Mostly yin yoga to start.
If you don’t know, it's the slow boring one.
For someone with raging ADHD it’s almost torture. Dance classes for the rigor.
Pilates but with the boards. I don’t know if you’ve seen them but they look like something an executioner would heave onto the stage. To start, I did the lowest rung and often was in class with women in their 50’s and 60’s. Eventually I graduated to the upper level Pilates and even kept up with the instructor, form and all. I’m not there today, see me in my baby pilates class, and I’m grateful I don’t push myself to be somewhere I’m not.
The bare minimum maintenance list may be annoying but also, is what it is. A phrase I’ve heard my entire life to justify feeling awful and being awful. Petition to rebrand it is what it is. I feel proud of myself for spending the last several years learning how to show up, for curating the list. Most of all I feel grateful for the privilege to be able to maintain it. When I get back into the swing, and throw in things like fresh baked pies just because or long night bike rides with the moon and city as my backdrop,
instead of feeling resentful about everything I have to do I think “Wow, I can’t believe I get to live with her for the rest of my life.”
This article is what it is: a breath of fresh air