I have discovered that I despise paintball. It took about five minutes. First I did not like the mask over my eyeglasses, it was uncomfortable but it made them feel stretched out, or something, and I since they are on my face while I am awake, stretched out glasses, no. I also was poorly dressed, I knew it the minute we got there and the only people in shorts and a tshirt were three teenaged boys, and I. I am pretty sure I hit people right off, but then, I got hit, in the neck, the bare neck and it was so painful that I literally could not catch my breath, in the next second another hit to my left knuckles, that was when I started crying and swearing. We gathered in the safe zone, I put down my paintball gun and mask and walked to the cooler of beer and sat in an Adirondack chair for the remainder. No thanks.
This morning I was achy and spent about a half hour talking myself out of a walk, but then once I got up, I decided, I should, I had to. It is this thing where I want to use this time, to walk, which is a mindful practice for me, but it is so many other things. It is good for my mental health, for my overall fitness, and I suspect in there someone will say calories in, calories out, you are walking everyday, though I suspect the scale will not budge. It never does. I am eating healthier, since my friend here is a whole foods, low carb, fresh foods, fresh fruits and veggies, and herbal medicine kind of person. A thing I am envious of, because I started out wanting this life, and lost it somewhere around the time my daughter was born.
I think about how my morning yesterday was all about doing it my way and the satisfying feeling of competence, and how it ended with a stinging smack that reminded me that I am weak and wimpy. So much for that confidence, so much for my belief that I can do it. Yay. No. Fail. I am embarrassed. More for crying. More for not expecting the sharp breath sucking sting of that ball on my tender neck.
I sleep fitfully, awake alot, thinking about how this comes around again and again, how just when I think I am doing it right, I get a good solid smack. I am not doing anything right.
At least the morning is beautiful, and my walk, despite the very itchy quality of my legs and feet, is peaceful and mentally, very healthy, probably physically too, although, it is marvelous to not weigh myself, and to not give a damn what my naked body looks like. Why are men such judgmental assholes about women’s bodies?