heidikins.com

In which I talk about my previous life, the one that included the gym…and the X.

There are bits and pieces of all of our lives that are remnants from previous experiences, previous relationships and even previous lives.  Some are welcome mementos that bring a smile to our faces and remind us of happier times. Others, we’d rather forget.  This week marks the last of a long string of tidbits that conjure up memories ranging from sad to painful to horrific, all centered around my previous life, the one where I was married.

Three years ago doesn’t seem like that far away, but in almost every possible respect an entire lifetime has passed between now and then.  Three years ago I was still married, I was miserable and heartbroken and trying desperately to fix the thousands of things that were broken on my own.  (Lesson learned, fixing a relationship is a two-sided project.  No one person can revive a relationship, it takes two.) 

I tried changing some major things.  I tried counseling -again, on my own- but kept all the emotional, physical and sexual abuse a secret.  I tried changing little things, my hair, my clothes, my make-up routine; hoping that something would help.  I even decided to join X’s gym thinking that “quality time” amongst the weights and sweating exercise-o-philes would perhaps be one step closer to making our relationship successful…or, at least one step farther away from a complete disaster.  What possessed me to sign a three-year contract, I still don’t know.  This gym is not centrally located, only had one other location (even less centrally located), didn’t have any classes I liked, and smelled like dirty socks.  Clearly, I was desperate.

For a while I went to the gym religiously with X, hoping that my showing an interest in something he was passionate about would help something, anything.  However, our relationship continued to deteriorate from unbearably bad to horror-movie worse.  A few months later I moved into my own apartment and avoided the gym and the possibility of running into X or his friends.  After X left the state (for who knows where) I timidly began using my gym membership again.  And by “using” I mean I might show up once or twice a month, watch the news while using the elliptical, bounce around with the medicine ball for a bit, and leave. 

As I began to heal, I considered attending more regularly, and tried it for a while.  But soon the act of driving through that old neighborhood, past my first “married life” apartment, and literally wading through so many ugly memories became too much to handle, even once a month.  The other day, RA talked about how music can trigger memories.  I can attest that so can something as simple as a weight machine, or the little coffee shop next door to the gym, or the park by my old apartment…all of those bring back memories, most of them ones I’d prefer to forget. 

In the last twelve months I haven’t been back to the gym.  I have watched $30 dollars a month be charged to my credit card, and I’ve paid it.  A dollar a day is practically insignificant when you consider the flip-side is an entire section of the city populated with heartbreak.  I think in the last year I have only been in my old neighborhood once or twice, and it was mostly by accident.  I do my running outside in my current neighborhood or in the canyon; even when it is hot, even when it snows.  I’d rather have cold, wet feet and a red nose than drive past the streets where I was so miserable. 

And this week, it’s all over; my gym membership will finally expire.  The chapters are long over, the book is closed and put away, and now the final footnote is finished.  When I think about it, most of me is relieved.  This is the last relic of my married life, that other world of experiences that have mostly passed into the realm of “bad nightmare” where the details are fading and the faces are fuzzy. 

Admittedly, part of me is a little sad.  Not sad to see this, or it, or him, or that finally go; but sad that all that hurt had to happen in the first place.  I know that my experiences made me a better person and despite all the tears and hurts and heartache, I wouldn’t exchange my short-but-horrible marriage for an extra few years of carefree dating.  In so many ways those experiences shaped me into the woman I wanted to become, the woman I am today.  I am strong.  I am compassionate.  I am independent.  I am confident.  I am heidikins.

…And now I am on a mission to find a new gym; preferably one that doesn’t smell like dirty socks.

31 Comments so far
Leave a comment