365 Random Days of Team Zybko

Day # 334

February 22nd, 2013

 Who is Your Towel Girl When You Feel Naked?

 

 

Years ago, in a land which seems super far away at the moment, this soccer mom was on a different kinda work out routine. I wasn't yet an instructor at McLeod. I didn't get paid to work out, I was still sweating on the other side of the of the microphone. Running and kick boxing were two of my favorite calorie burning activities. Neither one of these even remotely touches my radar at the gym in present time. Not a secret I would rather shimmy shimmy co co puff my cupcakes away than pretend round house someone or hit the hard on my knees pavement for a few miles. At the time, in a different season I loved it. I was lighter and in better shape. Outside of the average High School athlete zone, a step up from where I was used to being. During these hour long booty kicking sessions my favorite instructor would instinctively push us to do our best. Pushing us outside our comfort zone, to a new level we didn't even realize we had. Ugh, I really wanted to hate her but I liked her too much. I didn't want to do another squat,crunch or jack. I didn't want another gym rat stranger dripping sweat on me or really even touching me as we tag teamed a funky lie on the ground ab routine. Yea, not really my thing, wouldn't choose that on my own. But it made me stronger, work harder and propelled me shooting down the road to my fitness goals. When we had no more to give she would shout over the million beats a minute music....

 

Y'ALL CAN DO THIS!

DON'T GIVE UP NOW!

THIS IS WHERE THE GOOD STUFF IS!

 

A few minutes later she would throw me towel.

I no longer felt awkward or exposed outside my comfort zone.

 

 

 

In that same in-shape era I dabbled in Triathlons. Mostly short distance ones, some racing as a team, some out of town with siblings to make a family weekend out of it. The oddest most memorable triathlon was the one I swam while pregnant. I painted up my 8 month pregnant belly to side stoke, froggy kick and doggy paddle next to the equally prego instructor mentioned above.

 Paint our bellies and swim in a race? I'm sure I was doped up icing and hormones to have this sort of ding dong idea. My head is turned slightly as I look at this bare naked belly picture. In my memory I seemed to look a tad better than this. Oh well, I suppose the standards of a hungry fat woman in her third trimester are lower than any other time in her life.

 

After slathering on leftover paint from the freshly re-colored walls of my dining room we waddle in to the starting line, a few feet into the lake. Waist deep and ready to go, we giggle at ourselves like 8 year olds on a school wacky tacky twin day. How fun is this?

 

As we wait for the Tri official to blow his whistle I felt a strange sensation around my abdomen. Was it the baby moving? Getting ready to cruise through the murkiness with 150 other people, maybe she was as excited as I was. It happened again. I glance at my friend for a clue maybe her baby is also freaking out in utero. Third time. Nope, nope it wasn't fetal movement. I look down and realize the warm summertime water was causing the neon green base coat to peel away from my skin. Peeling away too quickly, leaving my experienced birthing belly exposed for the world to see. Unsightly, ugly stretch marks and all. 30 seconds earlier I was covered, giddy and ready to go. Now I suddenly feel awkward, naked and ready to go get some clothes on. It' too late. I have inadvertently in the most ridiculous way forced myself outside my

very own bikini comfort zone.

 

All the way through the half mile swim my brain swirls, dreading the inevitable, soon to be ungraceful exit out of the lake to the bike station. 100 or so yards of other racers fans, friends and family. Laughing teenagers who I'm sure will point and stare, later YouTube-ing me in a basement somewhere, completely unaware I am with child and not just pleasantly pop tart-o-liscious. Oh...let me not forget the mac daddy cameras and photographers set up by the event who are paid to skillfully capture this image for life. I had no idea where my friend ended up finishing. Her legs and arms are considerable longer, plus she carries less baggage all the way around. I assumed her workout barbie self had already reached land. I was right. As I begin to pretend run up the steep boat landing slope I hear my name being called over the excitement of the race. I squint into the morning sun to find the source of the voice. A tall blond with a happy smile and a fresh towel for me to cover up. Thank goodness, a good friend and towel girl to the rescue. I no longer feel half naked.

 

Almost 6 years later I still have these seasons of pushing myself outside my comfort zone. I am currently involved in something I have never done before. I'm awkward, at times unsure and some days feel super unqualified and ready to bail. I have jumped in head first and have committed with my entire heart so there is no turning back. I am learning as I go. Learning about myself and what I am capable of. What I need to work on and what comes naturally and easy. I'm finding out that staying where it's easy is totally boring and unhealthy like a stagnant body of water. Shouldn't we all push ourselves past the easiness of what we already know how to do? Outside the easy cheesy lemon squeezy comfort zone is where the good stuff is. It's here where we grow. It's hard. It's humbling. It's rewarding. My only piece of advice, before stepping out of easyville, make sure you have a reliable back up system in place before the exposed feeling comes. A towel girl or boy who encourages you and walks side by side with you no matter how many defects you have. They accept you stretchmarks and all. 

Thank you to all the towel girls in my life, especially this one!