When panic grows like a teenage boy’s boil

The last twelve months of my life have been a cliché journey.

I have worked really hard to ensure I am comfortable with who I am, how I look, and how I feel.

I’ve made some pretty big changes, I’ve set up a new company, I’ve changed my diet, I am on day 103 of steering clear of my good pal Prosecco and all her cronies. I’ve put the kids before having a clean house, slowly but surely I am turning into the person I want to be.

My insides feel great, so in turn my outsides are doing amazing.  Life without booze is refreshing, good food, regular training, all help to make you feel like a shiny new penny!

But there was one thing I wanted to do.

My hobby, as most will know is CrossFit – or old lady PE.

I love to compete. The adrenaline rush, the surge of energy, the desire to break boundaries is addictive.

However,

I always compete as part of a pair.

what doesnt kill you makes you stronger

My partner is a beast!  This assists me greatly.

Back in January, I got the idea, that perhaps, as training has been going well, the nutrition plan working, that maybe, just maybe, I should take to the competition dance floor on my own.

In retrospect – it was a really stupid fecking idea.

I entered a competition which you needed to qualify for.

I qualified.

Since then I have been in a mild state of panic, which grows with a fury like a teenage boys boil before a date.

The panic is growing, the competition is tomorrow.

I know in the grand scheme of the world, it means very little.

I know by Sunday it will be all over.

I also know, if I give it my all, and smile through it – it will be fine.

But, seriously, tell all this to my bladder – which is currently operating at high alert level.

So, tomorrow as you eat your bacon buttie, read the weekend papers, take the kids to the park.   Just throw a thought my way, I’ll be in a sports hall, trying to pass off as an athlete, grunting my way through weight lifting and still looking for my engine.

But, I think I will be ok.

Because no matter where I finish, the point is I am taking my comfort zone and throwing it out with the dishwater and doing something that terrifies me.

I only have to do it once.  Then I return to the haven of paired competitions with the beauty of my best bud.

Wish me luck!

 

2 thoughts on “When panic grows like a teenage boy’s boil”

Comments are closed.