Shaping Up

I hurt my back in the move. It wasn’t serious, and I honestly doubt I would have noticed if I still worked in an office chair all day without giving myself the opportunity to explore any possible damage I’d done to myself. But the movement intensive nature of an acting program means I’m moving all day in nearly every class; rolling on the floor, running and jumping around a classroom, climbing on and over objects (or my classmates), and that doesn’t even include the intensive movement-specific classes of yoga or Feldenkrais.

It kept hurting no matter what I tried, so I decided to try going for a run. I stopped exercising on my own when the quarter started (note – school here is done in three quarters instead of two semesters from early September to mid-June), partly under the assumption that school would give me all the exercise I needed, and partly because finding/making the time to get it done was nearly ridiculous. Running has been known to aggravate my lower back (which is the part I hurt in the move), but I was so sick and tired of hurting all the time, I felt like taking back some control. If I was going to hurt, I wanted it to be because of a specific action I’d taken, something to which I could point and say, “That’s it, that’s the reason.” I wanted to take ownership of and responsibility for my pain instead of simply being affected by it.

I wasn’t prepared for the result, however – the next day I quit hurting at all. No back pain whatsoever. I could twist, bend, flex, raise and lower myself in any direction for any duration. Having spent six weeks in mild to moderate agony, I felt like I had discovered superpowers. I was elated.

So elated, in fact, I found a place in the building of The Theatre School where I could put on my grappling gloves and shadow box again. Punching bags are annoying because they move too much. I have a half-hour routine of hitting something to the beat of the songs I’ve put into a playlist, and a variable, mobile surface doesn’t let me keep the pace I prefer. So I found a support beam in the room where we have yoga three days a week, and on Tuesdays and Thursdays before yoga class, I spend thirty minutes driving my (lightly) padded knuckles into the wall to the music of Korn, Foo Fighters, Nine Inch Nails, and Faith No More. The constantly scraped flesh and gently bruised bone serves as a perfect constant, daily reminder that I’m alive.

And every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday evening I spend 34 minutes pounding the pavement in attempt to get as far north as possible before time runs out, and then another 34 minutes coming back. The total distance I cover in this time is just over eight miles.

Between the heavily aerobic nature of these routines and three days a week of yoga, I’m looking pretty good in the mirror these days. I started losing weight almost six months ago, and with the exception of a six week hiatus when school started, I’ve kept it up through sheer discipline, determination, and motivation. I’ve finally lost enough fat that my musculature is showing through, and I’ve been surprising myself about once a week. Last night I even put on one of my favorite suits to go see a play; I haven’t fit into it properly in more than five years (if I ever did; I have no memory of not having to squeeze into it), but now it fits like it was tailored for me.

This is the first time in my life I’ve lost weight purely through self-direction. In the past it’s all been a part of financial circumstance, extreme depression, or a class I’m taking (BJJ or TKD). Admittedly I’m a poor grad student who can’t afford to go out to eat, I did suffer the most devastating breakup of my life earlier this year, and my acting class curriculum isn’t exactly lackadaisical. Nonetheless, these things combined with what I’m doing purely on my own are taking a wonderful toll on my physique, and I’m proud.

Now if I could only quit smoking…