When one door closes


There’s this saying that when one door closes, another one opens. The flaw in this is that it assumes that you are in a room with more than one door. Sometimes when one door closes you are stuffed.


Stuck in a room with only yourself for all eternity, eating your own toenails and drinking your own pee. If you are in a room with two doors, there is no guarantee that the other one will open, Unless the first door slammed an this created some kind of draught, of air pressure change that then caused the other door to open because it wasn’t properly closed to start with.  Truly though, what generally happens when one door closes, is that we open it again. Which is how most of us avoid getting stuck in toilets for ever and having our faces chewed off by rats.

1466475413379When I hurt my hip a few weeks ago in an over enthusiastic training programme of my own creation (note: this is why we have professionals for programme development), I thought it was the end of the world. I had just bitten the bullet and paid my membership dues for Auckland Powerlifting association with a goal of getting some runs on the board at the national champs in Whangarei at the end of the year.  My previous post describes some of my process that took me towards acceptance of this, which culminated in my signing up to a Barbell Class at a crossfit box.

I’ve tiptoed around the edges of crossfit before. I literally have the t-shirt. I also have two of the pairs of shoes, wait, three of the pairs of shoes. I follow all the sites, I have my own lacrosse ball and I know how to do a banded distraction of  my hip thanks to mobility wod and the supple leopard book. I have learned all the terms, am proficient at wall balls and know my emom from my amrap. But I have never bitten the bullet and got involved with a box. My daughter thinks I’m a wannabe. And I am. Because I know that if I joined a box proper, then I would be injured within half a wod due to my inability to accept that I am no longer 20 and not on the lumbering end of the sprightly continuum

Barbell class has helped me to get some more confidence in myself and my abilities.  Two years of intermittent pain, discomfort and injury takes its toll and some days its easy to wonder if its worth it or if its just better to feed your face to the neighbourhood cats. Doing this class, where I am the absolute worst, where I am streets behind everyone else has been a blessing. Losing the ego. I don’t have a persona in this place. Nobody knows me as anything but the quiet newbie. So I can get on with learning and enjoying. I used to think that I had to prove myself in all my physical endeavours in case people thought I was fat. I had internalised all these anti fat beliefs, and I thought that I had to challenge  perceptions at every turn. Always go hard. Never show that you’re struggling. Never complain. Always be enthusiastic. If I wasn’t doing this then I was just another useless fat person edging towards death. The day that I realised that I had these thoughts towards myself. And worse, that I had these thoughts towards other people shook me. How has this happened. Internalised racism is a recognised concept, but internalised fatism?

What appeared to be the end of my fledgling powerlifting participation, forced me to evaluate who I was without the weights. Coming out the other side, things are brighter. There are so many opportunities ahead. The osteopath was telling me today that my injury has been a blessing as it has forced me to review how I move. That I’m likely to be better off as a result. Since the door closed  I have come to know more about me and my motivations. What is important. What can be saved and what can be discarded.

With this new found vigour and enthusiasm, I’ve signed myself and the girl for a yoga class on the weekend. Of course, it is my very nature to take things just that one step too far, so most likely my next post is likely to be about how  yoga is the devils work and how I have vented my displeasure by farting angrily at everyone. If that happen, I’m sorry class, and you better hope that when that door closed, that another should open rather swiftly. Or at least a window.



stay patient

2 thoughts on “When one door closes

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