The Space We Fill
On reconnecting with my body and quieting the chaos in my mind
In 2014 I started going to the gym. Not to get fit or lean or build muscle mass, but to burn energy. I was crawling with it. It felt like ants under my skin. Angry ants revolting against a tyrannical queen.
So, when vodka and all-night marathon painting sessions failed to quiet the manic chaos, I dragged my messy anthill ass to the Fairmont Hotel gym at the airport. I work at the airport, so this was convenient. I could go immediately before or after my shift. I developed a routine: stationary bike, weights, cry in the sauna, shower.
My fascination was not so much with the physical changes themselves, but with how I had dictated the rules of transformation for my body.
My body started to change, tighten. When I added squats, my butt started to appear higher and more defined; looking at myself in the full-length mirror of the changing room also became part of the routine. I was fascinated.
This sounds like vanity. But prior to this, changes to my body’s shape had occurred without intent on my part. And whatever the changes were, they would seem to dictate how I was expected to behave in the world, how proud I was meant…
