I left the gym early again this morning after discovering the discomfort in my shoulder return with an elusive vigor. And while in the heat of the moment, my dependency on weight-lifting (or the obsessive pursuit of a particular body image embedded in the activity) revealed its centrality to my mental health. I guess to be more precise, weight-lifting diffuses my natural inclination to spontaneity and establishes order in my routine, as well as helping me mediate a more functional relationship with my body.
But after a few hours of thinking and arranging a doctor’s appointment for this afternoon, I am more willing to replace weight-lifting with running or yoga or some less strenuous exercise. Maybe kickboxing. Something that’ll allow me to explode— with kicks, metals, or whatever. Nonetheless, all of this would be easier if i had a gym buddy or something. (I constantly whine about this).
At least the polo my mom sent me looks okay. but my hair is really oily (since i haven’t showered in like 2 days [ew])