It's funny how I spent much of my life thinking exercise was possibly the most miserable thing one could do, and then one day I walked into a fighting studio and suddenly exercise was worth the pain that comes with it.
Because there is pain.
I don't mean the trembling muscles on your 150th push-up of the evening. I don't mean the time when someone accidentally elbows you in the nose. That's just temporary pain. That's nothing.
I'm talking about the damage you do to yourself when you train for several hours four nights a week and go hiking most weekends.
I'm talking about icing your knees and groaning as you walk up the stairs, for months and possibly the rest of your life.
I'm talking about wearing trousers and sturdy shoes to work instead of fun summer skirts and sandals because you have aggravated your Achilles tendon (or possibly your plantar fascia; details) and the back of your heel burns.
I'm talking about potentially lifetime damage to my body, and how I think about that and then think, Yup. Worth it.
I seriously could not have fathomed a world in which I would be annoyed not to be able to work out on a Sunday, and would straight-up dismiss the idea of skipping a day of kung fu to let my Achilles rest.
...
I put almost $500 into my car yesterday and today. When they first told me how much it would cost, when they asked if I wanted to do it all at once or wait on some of it, I gulped a little and said, "Go ahead."
None of it was absolutely necessary yet.
Despite the massive output of money (August: the month that drained my bank account), I actually feel like I got quite some value for my dollars. For an average of a mere $120 per replacement, I got all of the following changed:
1. Some arm that holds a tire on. (Or something. I'm unclear on the details.)
2. Front brakes.
3. A muffler.
4. A throttle cable.
My driving now goes like this:
Turn ignition. Wow! This car is so quiet! Is this how everyone lives?
Put car in gear. Release clutch. Move forward/backward. Change gears. Wow! This car accelerates so smoothly! Is this how everyone lives?
Stop at intersection. Wow! This car stops so quickly! Is this how everyone lives?
Turn right. Wow! This car doesn't make a creaking noise when it turns! Is this how everyone lives?
It's tedious to be inside my head. Also, repetitive. I just keep marveling that this is how most cars (apparently) function. Mine has been, in recent memory, loud and clattery and lurchy. And now it's not.
The arm thing that they replaced was oddly bent. "We can't imagine how this happened," the shop guy told me. "It was bent as if someone hit the wheel straight from the side, pretty hard."
Since the car shows no signs of damage, and has not, to my or anyone else's knowledge, been in a side accident, "it will probably remain a mystery," he said.
It's actually not much of a mystery. It's my car, isn't it? Weird stuff like that just up and happens when I am around.
(My roommate S. from law school and I both have a talent for breaking printers. Oddly, though, the printer that was not working when one of us stood next to it would start working again if we both stood next to it. Apparently our breaking-abilities cancelled each other out.)
Because there is pain.
I don't mean the trembling muscles on your 150th push-up of the evening. I don't mean the time when someone accidentally elbows you in the nose. That's just temporary pain. That's nothing.
I'm talking about the damage you do to yourself when you train for several hours four nights a week and go hiking most weekends.
I'm talking about icing your knees and groaning as you walk up the stairs, for months and possibly the rest of your life.
I'm talking about wearing trousers and sturdy shoes to work instead of fun summer skirts and sandals because you have aggravated your Achilles tendon (or possibly your plantar fascia; details) and the back of your heel burns.
I'm talking about potentially lifetime damage to my body, and how I think about that and then think, Yup. Worth it.
I seriously could not have fathomed a world in which I would be annoyed not to be able to work out on a Sunday, and would straight-up dismiss the idea of skipping a day of kung fu to let my Achilles rest.
...
I put almost $500 into my car yesterday and today. When they first told me how much it would cost, when they asked if I wanted to do it all at once or wait on some of it, I gulped a little and said, "Go ahead."
None of it was absolutely necessary yet.
Despite the massive output of money (August: the month that drained my bank account), I actually feel like I got quite some value for my dollars. For an average of a mere $120 per replacement, I got all of the following changed:
1. Some arm that holds a tire on. (Or something. I'm unclear on the details.)
2. Front brakes.
3. A muffler.
4. A throttle cable.
My driving now goes like this:
Turn ignition. Wow! This car is so quiet! Is this how everyone lives?
Put car in gear. Release clutch. Move forward/backward. Change gears. Wow! This car accelerates so smoothly! Is this how everyone lives?
Stop at intersection. Wow! This car stops so quickly! Is this how everyone lives?
Turn right. Wow! This car doesn't make a creaking noise when it turns! Is this how everyone lives?
It's tedious to be inside my head. Also, repetitive. I just keep marveling that this is how most cars (apparently) function. Mine has been, in recent memory, loud and clattery and lurchy. And now it's not.
The arm thing that they replaced was oddly bent. "We can't imagine how this happened," the shop guy told me. "It was bent as if someone hit the wheel straight from the side, pretty hard."
Since the car shows no signs of damage, and has not, to my or anyone else's knowledge, been in a side accident, "it will probably remain a mystery," he said.
It's actually not much of a mystery. It's my car, isn't it? Weird stuff like that just up and happens when I am around.
(My roommate S. from law school and I both have a talent for breaking printers. Oddly, though, the printer that was not working when one of us stood next to it would start working again if we both stood next to it. Apparently our breaking-abilities cancelled each other out.)
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