There was this girl at crossfit yesterday who annoyed me. A lot. God, even thinking about her now annoys me so much. She was useless. And fat. And she couldn’t even do one skipping double under, out of the 200 that was expected. The 200 that everyone else could do. Including the new people.
And then on her last round she cried. So weak. Everyone had finished, and everyone was watching. And she broke down and cried. She didn’t want to finish. She couldn’t do any, and she knew how terrible, fat, useless she was, and so she cried. And cried. I suppose she didn’t know what else to do.
Eventually she finished and headed for the last part of the workout; the run. And a lonely run she ran. Still crying, of course. And it was on that run she felt her bad day consume her being. And she thought of the mean comments, the emails, the words she had read that day. And she kept crying. And crying.
And then she slowed to a walk and with people on the street blatantly seeing her red eyes and mascara stained cheeks, she felt like she was faking her life. Like she didn’t deserve anything. She didn’t earn anything. That she was a sh*tty writer/blogger, a lazy person, a fat, weak, slow, unfit person, that she had no career, money, or plan. That she had failed, at whatever it was she was doing.
I cried all the way home yesterday. On the tram. On my walk. And then in the shower. And I felt the embarrassment sting hard from crossfit. And yesterday’s comments… they were mean, and it’s hard not to read them, especially when they came in over and over again and were confirming something I often wondered. I deleted nearly 150. 150 people who had taken the time to wear me down. And they did.
And it’s easy to say don’t let it get to you. Turn the other cheek. It means nothing… But it did. Yesterday was a hard day, but despite still feeling my puffy face sting, today is a new day, with a new start, and so I trudge on.