I’ve been fairly fit my whole life, mostly due to riding horses since I was about six, which is probably way more effective than your average strength training class. But I would exercise in other ways, too: the elliptical, dance videos, DVDs for busy moms, whatever. When I came to Kenyon, I quickly made the KAC my second home, latching onto the safety of routine. The KAC became a place that I could escape to when I felt alone and sad, which happened a lot, especially at the beginning of the year. It’s still happening now, to be frank. I’d make the long hike from my dorm to the KAC and catch up on my favorite TV shows while on the bike, or take out my frustrations by lifting weights, or try to clear my head with yoga. I’d spend hours in the KAC, and I actually lost about ten pounds my first semester here. (Freshman fifteen who? I don’t know her.)
But life gets in the way sometimes. And when it did, I would start to crumble. Without my routine, I felt lost and unmoored. I’d call my mom, crying, and ask her to reassure me that it was okay if I missed a couple workouts here and there. Ever the voice of reason, she’d tell me that of course it was fine if I didn’t have time to work out today; everyone needs a break. And while logically I knew this, I couldn’t separate this knowledge from the intense anxiety I felt if my schedule changed in the slightest way.
This was symptomatic of a larger problem I had. Have. Will probably always have.
I really like order. Like, Dolores Umbridge-levels of order, without the making-you-write-in-your-own-blood thing.
I like for everything to have its place and to stay in that place. If anything, anything changes in my daily routine, I freak. (My friends back home can attest to this. They put up with a lot. Thank you, friends who make me leave the house to go on an unplanned trip to Target at 10 pm.) Every night before bed, I methodically and meticulously plot out my schedule for the next day.
As a first-year college student, my life is chaotic and frightening, but my routine—especially working out—gives me control. It’s most definitely a coping mechanism. Boy, do I love coping mechanisms. I’ve retreated behind quite a few this past year, which has proven to be really difficult for me. I’m struggling to cling to whatever control over my life remains. (Maybe I’ll get into my more personal problems in a different post. Wouldn’t everyone just love that?) But without control, what’s left?
Turns out, a lot.
Being adaptable? That’s good. It’s what makes life interesting. Adaptability lets you have fun and do stupid college things that you’ll look back on with a smile. My laser-focus on health and scheduling? Ironically, bad. I was letting my anxiety and extreme aversion to anything new consume me and eat me up from the inside. I wish that I could say I’m past this now, and that I’m not letting the KAC and my obsessive need to schedule dictate my life. Unfortunately, I can’t. But I’m getting there. I’ve gained back the ten pounds I lost and I’m happy about it. The past couple weeks, I’ve only worked out five or so days a week instead of the full seven. Small steps, y’all. I’m learning to allow myself to relinquish control, slowly but surely.
Most people have difficulty going to the gym, or getting things done on time, and I have a hard time not doing those things. There’s a happy medium somewhere there, and I’d really like to find it. I think I will eventually, or I’ll at least come close.