I hate my body.Not just because it's heavy or stout, but more particularly because it's weak.
Today, like most of my Saturdays now, I went for a run. My mind was burning with passion; I was dead set on covering as many laps as my body can take. Apparently, my body can't take very much. I was only on my third lap when my appendix started screaming for a reprieve. My brain was throbbing with a dull ache that I can't shake off with any kind of happy music. My sweat glands were blocked, my skin burning with a nagging heat rash. So I stopped running and became angry.
I was angry at the aerobics instructor because he was moving a beat off from the music. He was his usual hyperactive self but I didn't see any passion in his movements. I felt like he was doing it to get it over with. And his music wasn't particularly good either. I didn't even break a fucking sweat after thirty minutes of that halfhearted workout.
I was angry at my friends because they're so insensitive and shallow sometimes. And they never really ask me if I'm okay. Sometimes, all I want from them is the initiative to ask me that question. But they never do. They never do.
I was angry at the world for being so worldly. Because as I walked in the middle of the track I realized that everything is so superficial. The people, the music, everything. Nothing felt real, and once again I felt that emptiness that surreptitiously creeps behind you and swallows you whole when you're in a room full of people and you feel so horribly alone.
My body is weak just like the rest of this physical world. It will die and rot and be forgotten. It is said that the mind controls the body and can push it beyond its limits. But what hasn't been often mentioned is that the weakness of the body is infectious to the mind. I tried to push myself beyond the pain. I tried to go through that door of physical limits with my will, but my body dragged me to a standstill. I couldn't move a muscle and suddenly I didn't even want to anymore. My motivation was gone and I got even more angry because I let myself be drained. So I cried---like I always do when I am disappointed, frustrated, and discouraged all at once. It's a heavy feeling to carry, but I find that not even my half excuse of words can lighten them.
