Even warriors get tired

Valentine's Day is a big deal in Thailand. I used to think it was a big deal in Ireland, until I moved here. Even at school kids make a huge fuss about it. They come in with stickers and candy and huge stuffed animals for their friends. The stickers part is unique to Thailand, as far as I know. The more you have on your shirt, the more friends you have, which years of schooling has taught me, is not synonymous with actually being loved.

And so, because Valentine's Day is such a big deal, somehow, without my knowing, I get wrapped up in this mess. Until this year, I have never had a significant other on Valentine's Day (well, maybe one year but we were miles and miles apart and it did not matter much). Therefore, subconsciously (or perhaps now - after voicing this - consciously)I have put pressure on my significant other and myself to have a splendid Valentine's Day, because you must - if you are in love.

Even though I know better than this, a part of me desires to be spoiled. Not because I necessarily feel I deserve it, but because I almost always fend for myself and everyone else. I'm the person that will arrange meetings and gatherings, and introduce people to one another. I'm the one that likes to make sure things are running smoothly, and that we're all getting along just fine. I'm the one that takes control and plans events, trips, and travels. And I guess, I just want to put my feet up and believe that if I didn't plan that dinner, if I didn't set up a time for all of us to meet, that dinner would still happen, and everyone would still get together in time. I want to let go of the reigns I hold on to so fiercely. But in my head: if I don't plan it, it won't get done. And if it does get done (a miracle!) then surely, I could have done it better.

I am flawed, of course. And sometimes, the thoughts that clutter my head lead me to believe, I am a mess.

I have chosen a partner that does wonderful things for me regardless of what day the calendar states it is. A partner who has been a support group entirely by himself on most days. I have chosen a partner who prefers me in my gym wear, hot and sweaty, versus in heels and make up. I have a partner who sees me, respects me, and love me the way I am. And he can do this because he is like that too. Labels do not apply to him: he is not just an English teacher, or an aspiring filmmaker. He is not just a basketball player and lover, he is everything, and all at once. Which is why, he is such an important part of my life.

So why then am I upset that this person doesn't care about Valentine's Day? I chose this person. I chose his calm demeanor and his laid back attitude, because it is so different from mine, because it is precisely what I think I could use a dose off. And yet, and yet.

I think getting caught up in all of this allows me to realize how shallow and superficial I can be. It also allows for this inner battle where one side of me screams, I'm not superficial! I just want to be taken care off! And the other side of me yells back, I am a fierce warrior, I need no one, and no one needs to take care of me.

But even warriors get tired.
Of fighting.
Of battles.

Even warriors must have looked at their nails every once and a while and thought to themselves how they'd like to see them clean, glossed, shiny.

Even warriors get tired.

And so this isn't about him as much as it is about me, and my shortcomings, and my unnecessary wants (aren't they all?)

 This is about me.
And my inadequacies.
And about how warriors too, get tired.

in sickness and in health

Thursday night I found it hard to swallow any food or water. After a trip to the emergency room where, I was unable to speak much, the doctor told me I had laryngitis and pharyngitis (never heard of that before), and prescribed me some antibiotics. The throat got better, and then a nasty flu ensued and back to the doctor's it was. Another trip, and various other antibiotics later, here I am! As good as new! Not.

I don't care much about taking medication. For the most part, I try to avoid Western medication like the plague, but if I am sick and unable to workout, I will take whatever I can get be back on my feet again. Needless to say this hasn't happened yet - I have yet to fully recover. I know my body probably needed a break, but my mind did not. My mind is constantly pushing me to do more, to do better, and so to swim 25 laps and feel exhausted, makes my mind yell at me and say some pretty harsh things.

That coupled with the fact that so many things about my body are psychosomatic. If I don't work out, I can suddenly see fat where it wasn't before. I know, this is not real, but that's how it feels for me, and feelings are as real anything else you will encounter. So, while I was devastated I could only swim 25 laps yesterday, those 25 laps meant I crashed at 9 p.m, right after I had taken my nightly dose of antibiotics. 

My throat is better today, but I am still extremely drowsy (and I just took my lunch dose) and restless. I missed classes that I love yesterday (at the studio), and today I will miss another. 

But, being sick has made me realize how wonderful it is to workout. And I am sure in 2 weeks, at some point, I will have to drag my butt for a walk or a run, but for a while at least  I can not wait to get back to it. Plus, tomorrow is Ash Wednesday and that can only mean one thing...

...like every year since college, I must learn about will-power and strength all over again. My best friend from college and I give up things that we are addicted to. This usually means we pile up on these very things on the days leading up to Lent, and then find it even harder to give them up once it actually starts. 

This Lent, I have chosen to do something a little bit different. Instead of saying, I will not, I'd like to put a positive spin on the words (credit here goes to what I am learning in my Health Coach course), and instead say: "this Lent, I will avoid processed sugars, and I will swim at least thrice a week, and run at least 16 km/week." 

This might not sound like much, but given my full-time job, my training, my classes and my ridiculous desire to occasionally be in something other than sweats and work out pants, it is enough. I promise.  

Today, will hopefully be my first jog/run in a week (!) and I sincerely hope it doesn't make me any sicker physically. Because mentally, I know it will put me at ease.

Other than being sick, there are some interesting developments which I will share later on today or at some point tomorrow (once everything is finalized so as not to jinx them).

Let's do this then, shall we? Let's use whatever excuse we need, religion, family, friends, career, to get fit and get active. Let's not allow our sadness and our weakness to be the reason we eat that double chocolate chip muffin; let's not allow how other's treat us determine how crappy we will treat ourselves. Let's not let a bad day turn into a worse one because we chose to cry it away, or sit on our tushes and feel bad for ourselves. 

Get up. Get out. Get some fresh air.

Had a crap day? A worse week? Make yourself better. Work out harder.

Good luck!

the feeding

more or less

the art of labeling

Living and studying at Mount Holyoke College, I met many individuals who did not like labels. They did not want to identify as straight or queer, or Asian or white, for all those labels come with stereotypes, misconceptions, baggage and concepts that might not have applied to them.

I learnt quickly, I too had this problem. I could not identify as Muslim because I did things that are unforgivable in Islam, and to call oneself a Muslim, a good Muslim, was a title in my opinion, and no easy task. Why should I call myself a Muslim when sinning as per the Holy Book had become my middle name? I am what I am, and I was not ready to vilify a faith because I was picking and choosing the things I wanted to believe in, and the rules that I had to adhere to.

Similarly, when my best friend and I at college joined the animal rights club (and she then became chair of this organization), I realized what a joke this was. Here I was, using make up tested on animals (although not very often, for that was not really my style at MHC), eating meat like it was my job. How dare I elevate myself to the status of my friend who was (and continues to be) an animal right's activist, with her non-animal harming/testing, and vegan-loving ways. She inspired me to become a vegetarian, and for 7 years I remained true to those beliefs.

Until recently I stopped being a vegetarian, and therefore refuse to identify as an activist. Do I love animals? Sure. Do I know how cruelly and brutally creams, make up, medicine are testing on them? Yes. Do I continue to use them? Yes. Well then. That's another label I will shun, because my love does not extend far enough to save animal lives anymore. Every day some calf's mother is on my plate, and I do not feel remorse but impending joy, and I am not traumatized but salivating instead, is proof enough that I am just an animal lover at best. And that too, when it is most convenient for me.

Recently however, I have met people who love labels! They call themselves feminists, and queer rights activists and fitness freaks. And then they do something else entirely: they sacrifice nothing.

To identify as any sort of activist, any sort of agent of change, you must sacrifice and surrender sometimes things that are important to you. You can not bash on men and call yourself a feminist, that is not what feminism is, and if I have to spell this out for you, you need to submerge yourself in feminist rhetoric, theory and discourse, because people have not been sacrificing for generations just so you can shit on their sacrifices. You can not call yourself a feminist and go to a ping-pong show, or contribute to the exploitation of women and girls in other ways. It just does not work.

If you give yourself a label, if that is what you choose, know that labels come with restrictions and limitations, there are things you must do, and those you must avoid so that people take you and your apparent cause seriously. You are not a fitness freak because you talk about it. Sweat it. Feel the burn. Work out on the days you think you have no time, and then we can talk.  You can not be a queer rights activist because you grew up with a queer person living next door. That is not activism. That is you clinging to an identity that is not yours.

But then again, what is identity? Yours or mine? Is it just the journey we embark on to make sense of ourselves? Is it just the process of knowing who we are not, versus who we really are? Are we ever really anything?


As I said in the beginning, I am not used to the idea of people actually wanted to have a label stamped onto their foreheads. But if this is your wish, if this is what you desire, then know what you have gotten yourself into: a life bound by what someone else once decided and dictated.

Good luck to you.

Because personally, identifying as someone, something, forcing myself to fit into a box, a sqaure, even a triangle, makes no sense. We are who we are, flaws and all. To not accept that is to not accept yourself; to not love yourself.

Why would anyone willingly do that?

As I said before, good luck to you.

Oops! I did it again...

A while ago I mentioned on my facebook page how tired I was of being used by people. I am that person that extends herself  to people who are feeling lost and isolated. I have done this many times before, and very few times has anyone actually shown any appreciation. What I mean by this is, people enter my life feeling shitty, and somehow for whatever reason start to feel better about themselves, and then suddenly the excuses begin: "no, I can't hang out that night, I'm busy/ sorry i didn't call you back, I had no time/ I have plans/ you wouldn't like my new friends..." You get the point.

This is all well and good. I have learnt over the years that I don't really need people. Of course there are a few people for whom I have a great, unconditional love, but they are very few. And even so, I live with the understanding that nothing is forever, and so to be attached to someone or something is a dangerous thing.

So where does this blog entry stem from? Is it because it is February and that means only one thing for me? Friday the 8th marks my father's birthday, and my mother's 12 year death anniversary - and that certainly puts things into perspective.

I show the kindness I do to people because I am my parent's daughter. There is no other reason, I don't actively help people because I feel they will do the same for me. My parent's already taught me that is a gift, should it happen, a blessing.

But, I have a problem with this notion: that  the person being bestowed with kindness and compassion has no responsibility to do good, to pay it forward (if not back).

Recently people have told me what a huge influence I am in their lives, whether or not they are actively with me, they make smarter choices because they have heard from me, or read something I have posted. And yet, and yet, these wonderful sentiments are followed with a series of excuses as to why people are backing out of their commitments to me, or why I can't be introduced to the new wonderful people in their lives (because apparently I am such a giant bitch I do not how to meet and greet people - in which case what are you doing in my life?)

I am really quite sick of it all. And frankly, I think maybe it is time to burn some bridges. Perhaps it is better to coexist with certain people, than to befriend them. Perhaps it is better to collaborate with some rather than to embrace them. Perhaps I shouldn't waste my time on people who clearly have no time for me.

I don't mean this in some spiteful, wicked way, but I am already the person people come to when things are difficult, and I am not going to be used, thrown aside, and be the person they come back to when everything falls apart.

Not again.

how about a quickie then?

I have a few minutes till my next class, but there's stuff I wanted to share.

Firstly, I have been instructing a weekly TRX session now for 2 weeks. And yes, that's just twice, but I positively love it! There's of course so much I still need to work on as an instructor, but after the class on the train ride home, I ponder ways to make the next session more engaging and intense. I also run over what I said, the instructions I gave (or could have given), and keep those in mind for future sessions. It's hard to do so, because I am my own biggest enemy and my worst critic, but I do pick up on things no one else does, and that works to my advantage - things can only get better!

I always felt I belonged in a classroom setting, and I still believe so. If I ever become a professor at some college/university somewhere, I think I will be thrilled to wake up each morning. I remember how much I used to love teaching in Karachi. Just let me near gender and culture -armed with some theories and ideas and my life experiences- and I can engage audiences within seconds.

But, I have to say, instructing in a fitness studio, feels just as good as teaching Sociology. I want so desperately to work out with the clients because the energy is extremely contagious, but as a trainer, I know better than that.

Just this quickie for now. I'm off to my final class (#6 for today!) and then home for some food and a run.
All I really want to do is fall asleep (which I probably will on the bus ride home), but this run is essential. I have a 5k on Saturday, and I want to finish at a decent time.

So here's a little motivation I could use.

my writing vs a vacuum cleaner

Yesterday I partook in a short story contest. One I prepared for, but also pooped my pants for. I haven't done any public speaking in years (do presentations count?) And I have never ever read something so personal out loud. The piece was about a love lost. Not just any kind of love; but a love that fills you up completely and then leaves a black hole where your heart should be.

I heard four stories before it was my turn, and as nervous as I was, I thought, 'I have this down.' The stories weren't so bad, but I know how to narrate a piece.I know how to deliver. Everything I am today, teacher, trainer, even friend, is because I know how to speak to people and connect, and it was my hope that my words and my story could do the same.

I would like to say I received a thunderous applause, but I honestly don't remember. I stand outside of my self when I speak in public, and I did not really hear the applause (although my friends tell me it was enthusiastic). I did see people paying attention. I saw people nodding along to my story, and smiling when appropriate. I thought I did well.

But then there was a voting. A ballot for the best two stories, and even then I was sure I was one of those top two. I had prepared (while some had not), I had delivered (while some had forgotten), and I had connected with the story.

Initially I had not cared about the voting. But then I thought, if I won that would mean that I could write! That my words did matter, and that I haven't wasted hours of my life, days of my life. writing those short stories for nothing! Finally, I would have some sort of acclaim - some sort of acknowledgment.

Alas, it was not so! I did not win first or second place. Instead I was ashamed and saddened that I had shared something so personal and it had amounted to...well, shit.

My friends thought I had done a good job. But then, that's their job, isn't it? A couple of people told me they liked my piece (one even said she had only cast one vote, while you were allowed two, and that one vote had been for me). But I hadn't won, so there's another rejection in regards to my nonexistent writing skills. Maybe I am doing something wrong. Maybe my writing isn't sophisticated enough (although last night I doubt that was a problem). Or maybe, since I am not out to please the masses, the un-pleased masses, forced to think during and after my piece, did not vote for me.

People are entitled to their opinions and their votes. And I need to realize that I did the best job I could do - but that makes the losing all the more difficult to handle, because if my best isn't enough, then what is?

I guess it's over. I performed a piece that was personal and meaningful, and a few people connected. Was it the highlight of my weekend? No, probably not. The highlight of my weekend was buying a vacuum cleaner, which has made cleaning so much more convenient.

And sometimes it's just that: the little things that matter, while the big things try and come together.

nothing's gonna knock this girl down

I am exhausted. Boot Camp was very challenging today, and then I prepared for my first official TRX session (in a real fitness center, with real clients!) for tomorrow. Finally I took an awesome Twist Muscle Conditioning class that was focused on the sport of Badminton (which I have played), but made evident that to be a true athlete, a great athlete, you don't just stick to the same moves you make on the courts. You train your body in all sorts of different ways. And moreover, you challenge your mind. It was also wonderful to observe the instructor, who is so kind and polite, and so obviously passionate about what he does.

There were definitely moments in the day when I thought, "I want to quit, this is too hard." But then I realized who I am, and what I stand for. I don't quit, I don't give up, and even if I have trained 3 hours that day and run errands and done all my daily routines, I do not make excuses. Because there is no room for excuses. If you want to see a difference, if you want to see a change, whether it's in your body, your mindset, your life - you gotta give it your all. Every time. Every day.

I am not necessarily living the life I thought I would be at 28. There are things I have not done, and other things I might not be so proud of. But then there's all the trying in between: trying to be a healthier person, trying to be a stronger person, trying to be a kinder more compassionate person. And if I had given up each time I had been handed a difficult hand  - well, I would not be here, and I would not be typing this.

I think my biggest struggle with being a trainer is sometimes I just want to yell at people. Get all Jillian-like and scream in their faces. Not in a demanding give -me -300 -squats -sort of way, but rather just shout , "do you have ANY idea what you are capable of? do you have even the slightest idea of how much your body can handle?"

So when I got tired during my workout, I took a second, I took a breath and I shouted internally: come on, come the fuck on, you know you're stronger than this.

And when you get tired of a work out, think to yourself, people rip themselves open everyday to create life. People lift cars and buses and fucking trucks with their bodies. People bend and fold themselves into pretzels. And the only reason you can't, is because you've decided not to try. Each time you listen to that lazy side, you've decided, and you've chosen to quit and to fail.

And why would anyone choose that? Push yourself today, and push yourself tomorrow. And the pushing you do today, will be a piece of cake for you soon. Believe in your body and train your mind. Your mind is your greatest weapon.

And no, when it comes to working out and being healthy and staying fit, you can't just say, "well I wanted to," or, "I had the intention to." A workout is nothing but a follow through of those intentions.

So next time you are double minded about working out, next time you want to quit mid work out, next time you want to quit anything at all - make a choice: kick ass, or get your ass kicked.

the best VS my best

I am now officially a Personal Trainer! In that I passed the exam that I thought I was destined to fail. And if I had failed, it would be perfectly understandable since it is a very difficult exam. I am so relieved that the studying, and the work outs paid off! Now, I am a Personal Trainer AND a TRX Instructor, as well as currently being enrolled in a Health Coach course where I will be one of the first Health Coach's in Thailand (should I pass that exam)!

Speaking of the TRX, I have my first *real* class on Wednesday. I am really excited about being given an opportunity to prove my passion and my worth, and I just hope I manage to do my instructor and myself proud. I am always worried about disappointing my teachers and letting them down, although more often than not, they are the wonderful people who shape my life and the only ones who have faith in me in regards to what I can achieve.

Other than the TRX class, I am worried about my first short story reading. Well, it is less a reading and more a personal narration, if you will. The event is next weekend, and we can't use notes and cards, and that's OK, but the material is pretty personal (even though it is now thankfully largely irrelevant). I am nervous to read my work aloud and can only hope I will see familiar faces in the crowd that will allow me to breathe easier...

Easier reminds me - I ran 6.5 km's today! It was a run for breast cancer awareness and to raise money for research into the cause. I had to stop less than a kilometer into the running because my running pants slide off my butt! But other than that, I did not stop. I could have gone faster, but I ran the risk of flashing my undies to everyone, and decided against it. My running buddy and I did much better than we have on previous runs. But hearing my running buddy talk about herself and her times, and how much faster she used to be, made me realize how hard we can be on ourselves.

I always tell myself it wasn't fast enough, it wasn't powerful enough, it wasn't a good enough work out. Why? Why not acknowledge that my body did more work than it usually does at 6:30 AM on a weekend and be grateful that it did not give out? My time was better than it has ever been, and it might not have been the best, but it was my best thus far. And the fact that I am stronger and faster and better than all those yesterdays should be my focus.

There is no reason to compare ourselves to the people around us, friends or strangers, mentors or enemies. Compare yourself only to the person you were yesterday, and if today you are stronger, healthier, calmer, and happier than yesterday, well - you did it! And you can, and you will do it again.  

And that's what really matters. Isn't it?

The Karma Cafe

People taken Karma very seriously in Pakistan. They don't view it as Karma per se, but the idea of bringing harm to someone is one of the worst things you could do. When something bad happens it's because someone cursed you, or spoke or thought of you in an envious manner. so must feed the poor, you must give alms. When something good happens, you must not jinx it and you must show gratitude, so you must feed the poor, and you must give alms... I remember being very young and being taught to place myself before others. Sometimes these teachings weren't obvious to me. When friends would come over, I was asked what they would want to eat, and if I responded with a, "but I don't want to eat thatttt" (whiny voice), I was told I must think of them before myself.

As I grew older, the lessons became stricter and also more important. I was taught to "be there" for people even when it was inconvenient for me. I was told over and over again that good deeds were always repaid, just not always in the ways we imagined they would be.

Today, I continue to struggle with concepts of Karma. I use the word struggle because, quite frankly, I find myself bending over backwards to placate people and the egos they deny that they have. Whether it's agreeing to do things to make others happy, or agreeing to eat certain foods to keep things simple in a crowd, I do care about the little and the large things that go on in people's lives and that make them happy.

I have to believe that Karma comes back around when you least expect it, and that even if you don't broadcast the good you do (wasn't that once the only way it was?), it is never forgotten. I struggle with people who appear to be at peace with themselves but then make some hideous choices because they bank on their good deeds of the day/week/year. It reminds me of people who come to the gym, work out, and eat more than they should post work-out. In their heads they burned some calories and so that justifies the excess food or the unhealthy food. So you do your good deeds, and then your screw up royally, screw people over royally and you talk about the next good deed you will do.

I've been that person - the one at the gym, busting my ass and eating more than I should. I am still that person, who works out extra hard before I eat something I know I shouldn't. But I make that choice every time. The choice to be that person. What does that say about me? I guess at the end of the day I am harming myself. I am taking away from the hard work that I do. Which is why I am honestly shocked when people take that a step further to hurt others.

I struggle with the concept of Karma, because despite all my studies in human behaviours and experiences, I struggle to understand people themselves. I don't necessarily believe that all good deeds are rewarded in this life, and I am unsure if I believe in a life hereafter (oh man, I am in so much trouble if there is), but I do believe that terrible acts, terrible deeds, float in the air like particles of dust, getting to where they need to be. Particles of dust that can only be seen through a bright sunbeam.

Because sometimes you have to shine a light on yourself to finally make out the filth and darkness within.

Is it that time?

back to reality

I'm back at work, back at school, after a brief break. Even though I love teaching in any capacity (at the gym, at school, after school, over coffee), I have to say my favourite days are those spent at home planning my work outs for the day. It sounds as if I am some sort of beefcake (with no disrespect to beefcakes, of course), but it's not that. It's just that I find home in strange places.

I remember feeling that way when I was teaching Sociology (what feels like many years ago). I would come out feeling energized even though that was my job and my means to an end. But really, it was so much more than that. I felt at home among those bright (and dull) students, their fierce debates, and fiery opinions. I would challenge my students, but more importantly they would challenge my beliefs and this was invigorating!  I love teaching, because I love learning. So whether I am learning a new exercise regime, or I am being questioned about grammar, there's a desire to go back home, look up more information and to know more. To sharpen this mind.

I feel  a similar sense of home at boot camp when my hamstrings are burning and I continue on, and on the TRX when I am positive my hands can no longer support my weight, but they do. They always do.

I don't want much from my days. I want to do the best I can at work. Be the best I can outside of work.

And be the strongest woman people have met in a while. And I don't mean just physically.

2013

running scared

So, like most other people I made New Year's Resolutions. Some were pretty cliche: I want to eat healthier (not that I was eating very unhealthy previously), I want to work out more (although I'm pretty active already), I want to read more (this has become very difficult recently because I had been working, working out and studying for the last 3 months and it was just so much easier to watch something senseless versus imagine and create complete characters and  whole worlds) - but, I also want to run at least a half-marathon.

Of course the dream is to run a full marathon, but that scares me quite a bit. Some of that is because of the arthritis that has taken refuge in my knees and other joints. But also, I have this fear of dying a mile before the full marathon is over. I have heard this happens, not often, but that it can happen. What a waste, to train that hard, run that much, and never be able to bathe in that moment of true triumph!

So, I will "settle" for 21 kms. I say settle not because I think a 21 km requires any less dedication (it's all extremely hard in the beginning), but because it could not compare to 42 kms in this Bangkok heat and humidity. I am not as worried about dying during or after a 21 km run. I know I can do it, versus just believing that it might be possible (with the 42 km). I want to do it. And so I think I will.

I have worked with weights, I have done yoga and Pilates  and it's been 8 months since I discovered Boot Camp and my amazing trainers, but I want to add something new and different to my regime - precisely so it does not feel like a regime. While I have run shorter distances before, I want to be challenged, and I want to ensure that my arthritis will not get the better of me. The TRX is my exercise, my weapon, my toy of choice, but running is something that can be done without payments and fees, without spotting and straps - you don't need a gym, you need a road or a trail. And so you have 0 excuses to not be healthy.

I am lucky to have met an awesome running coach, and hopefully will learn much from him as I embark upon this journey of health (and I hope mental strength). I have some shorter runs coming up soon (6.5 kms on the 13th and 9.5 kms at the end of February), and I hope to do my best.

Because it is important to understand your body, i.e. don't treat it like it's unaware and unsophisticated - challenge it.

Be good to your body. As they say, it's the only place you have to live in.

And now, it's time for a run!

Okay so here goes:


This blog has been created more for my peace of mind. There is a journey I am about to embark on, well several journeys, actually, and I might need to voice my concerns, my frustrations and my fears. So here's to setting up a new blog, for a new year, with some very exciting new goals. You'll be hearing more from me soon!

M.