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NiceGuyNihilist -> Realizing you really crave what you thought you hated (9/21/2011 12:54:19 PM)
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My job requires all employees, regardless of fitness level, to check in with a health coach at least every three months in order to get a reduced insurance rate. I like to think of myself as physical self-discipline personified, so I naturally resented this from the beginning. The first time I called my assigned coach, who happened to be a woman, I arrogantly took immediate control of the conversation, declaring that I was going to describe my exercise and nutrition regimen down to the last rep and gram, and she would then be free to suggest any improvements that came to mind. As if you could possibly have any, my tone implied. I was like that every time, and sometimes even sarcastic. God, was I a prick. I could always tell she just wanted to be done with me.
Yesterday, I tried a Crossfit class for the first time. For anyone who doesn't know, Crossfit is a group exercise regimen that involves powerlifting, explosive bodyweight exercises, sprinting, kettlebells, rowing, and more--pretty much something from every category of exercise. The goal is to produce the most well-rounded human machine possible. The workout I did involved 50 kettlebell swings, 50 box jumps, 50 medicine ball tosses--then 40 of each, 30 of each, 20 of each, and finally 10 of each, ideally with no rest at all. It kicked my ass. I sucked more than almost anybody. My pride made me push through a great deal of the pain, but eventually I felt I had to stop and rest or have a heart attack. Once, while I was sucking wind while the kettlebell rested on the floor at my feet, the coach came by and asked how many reps I had left in this cycle. Five, I said.
"Okay, five more--now," she said briskly, pointing at the infernal weight.
A part of me wanted to leap up and say, "How dare you insinuate that I'm not fully applying myself?" But then I realized I hadn't been; if I'd really wanted to, I could have pushed through the last five reps, and I wouldn't have come close to dying from it. I did as she told me--I submitted--and knew, however much I wanted to hate myself for it, that I was better off because of her discipline. And then, it was as if a switch flipped. Having been forced to see myself honestly, I now wanted to give full reign to the part of me that craves a woman's control. Please walk be me again, I thought, almost against my will, every time I'd given all I thought I had and stood with my pulse pounding in my head. It felt good to yield, to be made to face myself honestly, even if the woman had no idea what was going on.
I'm like this a lot with submission--very ambivalent. Anyone else?
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