Fear Factor

Flash back a few years:

I'm nervously following my good friend Kate through a sea of benches and free weights in the RPAC (Ohio State's main gym). She acts like this is nothing, as if she doesn't notice the curious glances from the men we pass. We walk up to a machine I can only describe as a "cage," she loads on some heavy weights, and starts busting out squats. Then it's my turn. I can't believe what I'm doing... am I even allowed over here?

Back to the present:

Last week I learned how to properly do a clean and press, I maxed my bench out at 115, and I started an "expert" level program from bodybuilding.com. But pshhh, it 'aint no thang.

But really, it isn't that big of a deal. A quick glance back at the entry titled "Throwing up at the Jym" will show that I was pretty nervous about the program, but I've knocked out four days already and am going strong. I've even kept up with the macros fairly well!

I used to say that Kate could go into the weight room "without fear" and it was such a novel, impressive trait. Now I don't even think twice about it. When I was trying out Lifetime, the sales rep saw me jumping rope in the weights area. He quickly ran over, really worried that I had been forced there for lack of space elsewhere. No, I had to explain, I'm just doing an active rest in between sets. Boom.

I wonder what my past self would say about the present version? Past Lisa would probably judge the present one.

But who cares? That Lisa thought 30 minutes of moderate intensity elliptical time could justify a 36 oz jumbo margarita, bottomless chips, and a fajita dinner loaded with sour cream. Cazuelas, my college pregaming hot spot, I will always love you for your $7.99 giant margarita gifts to humanity. But I've moved on.

I am now a creatine taking, protein packing, macros counting, workout machine that steams right into the weight room "without fear." (rocking my cute pink tennis shoes and headband of course.)