I Procrastinated Myself into Self-Love

There is nothing worse than that feeling; when you are seized with fear and terror that you know you could have prevented. Why couldn’t I have just started earlier? I was doing nothing, I promise. Watching Top Chef and eating Cheerios does not constitute as studying. Shit shit shit. I have no time now, pulling an all nighter won’t help. Dragging myself to the library would only make me feel worse.

These are the things we tell ourselves when we procrastinate. It’s a natural thing to happen. Time slips away from us and all of a sudden we realize that a ten-page paper WILL have to be written overnight. We worry about what will happen if we do it on time and fail, so we don’t do it on time so that there’s a fool-proof reason of why we did so poorly: there simply wasn’t enough time. A self-fulfilling prophecy.

So here I was, peddling away at the gym, trying to attain that spring-break bod and avoiding my problems. I looked around the gym to see everyone around me in better shape, feeling the pressure to up my speed based on the speed of the sprinter next to me.

When I was done and wiping my sweat off the machine, I thought of something: If I wanted to achieve the body that I desperately wanted, I would have to lose all my body fat and then regain muscle. Spot training doesn’t exist, crunches apparently don’t help anymore. All of that work, diet and restriction. What was the point?

I worried about not looking good, not being in the best shape of my life. Life told me that I should be in the best shape of my life. I worried about gaining weight and then hating myself more. I just worried. Realizing the amount of effort it would take me to achieve that body made me recoil from the whole thing. I was lazy, I didn’t want to dedicate 3–4 times a week to the gym. I wanted to freaking watch Top Chef and eat Cheerios! I wanted to stay in bed all day because dammit, I could.

I justified not working out by saying that I didn’t need to. That I was hot already. That my little belly chub was cute and didn’t need to be widdle away. That it was the last thing of my childhood that I wanted to keep. I didn’t believe that at the time, but it was either think I’m hot or go to the gym. I told myself that crunching away was not how I wanted to spend my time

I continued to tell myself that, that I didn’t need the gym. I didn’t have to worry because I looked awesome. The ends for me, didn’t justify the means. What would happen when I got abs? I would have them…great? They’ve never been a super priority, which is funny because the things I do prioritize (work, school, goals) I work my ass off to get. It’s not like the drive isn’t there. It’s just not on my body. I didn’t need to go, I went when I wanted to. What an amazing thing, to go to the gym when you want to.

Today, I can’t tell you the last time I went to the gym. The last time I tried to find out how many calories were in a bagel. My grades may have slipped due to my laziness, but my mind thanks me for it. Sometimes I see myself in the mirror and I think, “what if?”, and maybe one day I’ll feel driven to bulk up dem abs. But not today.