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What is strength?
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STRENGTH What is strength? All women have strength. In their moments of weakness it brews, ready to take hold. Strength can only come from fragility, it breeds from vulnerability. There is nothing more powerful and formidable than dedicating time for self-improvement. We intimidate with our dedication and work ethic so clearly on display. My hard work exposed by the ripple of my muscles that protrude from my otherwise soft body. The lines smooth and ridges clear. Concrete where there once was limitation. Rise and fall where there was once weakness. I feel the breath enter my chest like energy, abolishing every thought. My efforts to think of nothing other than this instant realised. A mind-set that could prepare me for anything, a force so strong I could conquer the world. The path I have chosen leads me to clarity. Feeling yourself reach your limit brings strength. To feel your muscles quiver from exhaustion and the sweat roll down you neck. The infinite power you feel in weakness after you’ve pushed to the point of fatigue. The blood pounds in your head like galloping pistons and your vision starts to blur, submerged in your mind. In this moment, this moment of utter weakness, you are your most strong. You achieved what you set out to. You reached the boundaries of your capabilities, and tomorrow you’ll do the same. But next week? Next week, you’ll be even stronger. Your boundaries will be even further and you will push harder. When your brain stop, and you can’t hold yourself up, you are power. You are not the vanity everyone sees, but the betterment we all feel. You are the ability to know what is right for you. What you want. How you want it. And most of all, you are the hard work you know you can do.
Set apart form the other women who become slaves to the treadmills, I step into the testosterone fuelled ring of fire. I feel the sweat drip and roll down my body. It forms like an unstoppable force, collecting in pools and burning in my eyes. But this is my strength. This is my hard work so clearly on display. Once ashamed by the apparent sign of weakness, I now wear it like a badge of honour. A sign that I work hard. I push myself to the edge, often. A shield of protection from anyone who doubts me. I revel in its power. Ready to battle the stares and fend off the assumptions. My own personal cheerleader and Round Table Knight, prepared to fight to the death for what I believe in. I stand alone, a sore thumb in a crowd of men drowning in the belief that I don’t belong. But I’m ready to face my own personal battle. No longer clinging to my mantra to wade through the supposed lack of knowledge. I push and I push, determined to look strong. To feel like I belong. This is as much my turf as theirs. I do not need their approval, I don’t ask for it. They can close their minds as I open mine to a new level of power, an eminent sense of ability. I’m giving this all I have and it elevates me in return. “Stare.” I scream the silent litany in my head. Praying for some recognition from the hours of dedication. Craving some level of acclaim for who I have become. I am pride. I am strength, even when I am weak. For I am woman. I am alive.
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I am strength, even when I am weak. For I am woman. I am alive.
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Calluses
I wear my calluses like a trophy displaying my hard work. Displaying the sweat, the agony and the dedication. Pushing me towards something better, towards something great. Rough, like the strength I continue to cultivate. They form a constant reminder of the person I have become. The hours I have spent toeing the line between commitment and madness, unkind to my battered body. But as my body became tired, it also became strong. Strong like my mind, strong like my determination. It’s with that determination that I form these calluses, through countless pull ups, countless reps and countless hours. They wreak havoc on my routine. I can’t straighten my fingers, the pain so sharp I have to ice them to grant some small respite. I’m desperate for them to heal, but not because I’m in pain, because I can’t wait to lift again. Feel the cold, rough weight heat under my now strong grip. Hear the blood pump through my veins and pulse in my ears. Relish in the power I feel when I lift a new level of heavy. This is safe. This is home.
Shin Splints
Shin splints play on my mind. The regular stabbing pains an unwelcome reminder that I – once again – should stop running, allow my body to heal and my muscles to repair. I’m not worried about my health. Or the potential lifelong damage. I’m long for them to mend, so I can run again. My body delivered these warning signs once before. Ignored by my overactive mind, running off feelings instead of pounds. It was easier than admitting I was struggling. Facing the pavements instead of the problems always seemed to be a better option. I continued to cause myself unnecessary agony, desperate to run, to feel the cold air sear my lungs as I rake it in and force it out. Desperate to feel my feet ricochet off pavement and for my stride to perfectly match the rhythm of both my breathing and the blare of the music in my ears. To simultaneously feel both synchronised with the beat of the world and yet, completely removed. The almost blissful mix of utter agony, joy and numbness.
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WORN What is the difference between our battered bodies and our battered trainers? If our trainers look so damaged after the miles they carry us, should we be thankful, or concerned by the equivalent our bodies must go through? We rely on our trainers a great deal. They are thrown from bag to floor, pounded into the ground and propelled as we improve. They should be treasured, even when they look saggy, weather worn and past their best.
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FOR. A. GIRL.
I’m constantly told I’m strong for a girl. For. A. Girl. Am I too sensitive when I take this as an insult? Eyes roll and comments flow. “You’re too much of a feminist” How can I be too much of a feminist? How can I long for equality too much? I am under no delusions, That men are stronger than women, But must my achievements be diminished, By my gender? But must my successes be quantified, By my gender? I ask for no leniencies, So why are they given to me? I strive to break down the barriers, But why do I often feel alone, Alone in my quest for betterment? This life can become so isolating. Especially when you’re considered too different, Reminding people that they’re too weak To do it themselves. I step aside instead, Not following the norm as I used to. Gone are the days I longed to be skinny, To be pretty, to be small. Now, I long for strength, And for confidence. Why are you trying to drag me down? Strong women should build each other up. They should be proud, Proud to stand along side other women. Not threatened, Or insecure. Shoulder to shoulder, Ready for the next challenge. Do it for you. Do it for us.
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I wanted it. I needed it. It continued to nag at me as I dragged myself out In the cold weather again, Desperate to feel some level of improvement, A whisper of ease. Six months of consistent, Relentless Running And still I struggled. Too hard on myself to see the progress, And far too competitive To allow myself These apparent failures. It would not defeat me. Then came the day. Snow on the ground and the air So crisp you could hear it Crackle. The clouds hung tight, Refusing to let a hint of the sun through their cover. Stepping out, I felt the same dread I always did. The agony I’d grown accustomed to Tore through my body, But so did something else. My stride felt right, Perfectly in time with every thought that passed.
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A clarity of mind, So unblemished and so complete. I knew today would be the day, The day it fell into place. Everything felt the same, Yet so different. My stride still hit the ground, My breath was still laboured. But I felt altered, As if my body knew. Knew that this was it, The day I fell in love with running. The moment I finished, The rapture set in. The route that felt like my marathon was finally a success. A smile on my face so wide it could burst, It didn’t wane until I fell asleep. That was it, Like a drug addict, A slave To the endorphins that coursed through my body. Without a backward glance, I was ready. Time moves on and goals change, But the knowledge of success never fades. So I tie my shoes tight And line up again. Ready for the buzz.
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EX-BODYBUILDER LAUREN WHITE
When did you get into fitness and why? I was 16 and my friends were joining a gym because we all wanted to be skinny. When did that change? When did you want to stop being skinny? Oh Christ, not until when I was about 22, so 3 years ago. Do you feel like weight lifting sets you apart from other people? It can separate you, just because of how you do alter your lifestyle a little bit. Why did you decide to enter the bodybuilding competition? I’m not actually sure what made me decide. My now ex boyfriend did not think I could do it, do that just spurred me on. Do you have any other passions aside from the gym or would you say the gym is your passion? Definitely yeah. I don’t know I guess my job really, it sounds really sad but, yeah I do really like my job as well. Making people happy with cake, which is kind of the opposite to fitness really. What makes you feel powerful? It sounds stupid, like when you’re in the gym and like you’re on the bench next to a guy and you’re putting on more weight than him. Little wins. What makes you feel weak?
Vulnerable situations. You feel like that the first time you go into the weights section. You’re like ‘Oh god, everybody knows I don’t belong here’ Does that feeling change? Yeah, once you start stacking weight on, you’re alright. It’s nice to be able to hold your own Do you feel like you’re part of a community? Yeah community wise, it’s more online, I think. Online, I go on quite a few closed groups and stuff like, there’s a female only one that’s really good though actually and you just talk about all sorts like gym, competing, relationships, periods all that stuff that nobody really cares about on like your normal Facebook friends list maybe like you can just go on there and just rant about thing. It is a good community online definitely. Do you think that’s important? Yeah, because people have accused me of having an eating disorder because they think I’m not eating, when I’m eating 5 times a day. I think it is quite important to find like minded people to give advice to because if you ask advice about dieting, when you’re my size, if I’m talking to my friends, they’ll be like nonsense shut up you’re fine eat a cake. But if you speak to someone that actually wants to get lean get in really, really good shape. Not just looking good like clothes, getting you know, in phenomenal shape they’ll be able to talk to you on your level. Rather than people just telling you what you want to hear. I think that’s really, really handy. Definitely. What’s your most important life lesson? Just fuck what everyone else thinks. I try and consciously decide to not give a shit basically. Because if you stop thinking what other people think then you can do what you want. Do you think you’ll compete again? Hopefully I will do it again. Yeah, it’s very tiring though. Not any time soon. What does the future hold for you? Hopefully more of the same. I’m trying to get balance back if anything because I was a bit all or nothing before. I am with everything though. There’s always room for improvement. Do you think keeping an account of your progress or journey, not necessarily you progress but even if it goes back, takes a step back, or takes a step forward, do you think that’s important? I think it is actually, I’ve been using Instagram this year, it has been quite a good tool actually. Like when strangers comment on your photos saying you look good it’s always a little bit of an ego boost. I never used to take enough photos when I started and I’m really annoyed that I didn’t. I have sort of come a long way since I started really. It is important to look back because you see yourself every day, otherwise you’re never going to realise that you’re actually making progress. What does being a strong woman mean to you? I’d probably class myself as pretty weak mentally. Physically, little thinks like being able to carry your own shopping bags for example. It is really annoying when men just presume that you can’t do stuff. My mum still asks me ‘ oh can you manage?’ Being physically strong is very applicable to every day life. It’s more applicable to every day life than most women actually think. Do you think it’s rewarding? Yeah it is like personally, because a lot of people don’t give two shits how much you can lift but little its like just making like little bits of progress on your weights is a little mini win really isn’t it, like yeah, I did that. It’s pretty cool.
So if you were to explain what a strong woman is, or what you would presume a strong woman would be, as a person, not necessarily how she can lift, what would you think a strong woman would be? I just think it’s someone who can cope with life without being like a quivering mess. My friends always say that I’m a strong person and I just I don’t, I don’t really see it, but then when they tell me, I’m just kind of like god yeah, you know all that stuff did happen and I’m still here Still standing still going. I had a tough couple of months, but I managed to scrape something together. Do you feel proud of that? I do actually now. At the time I just felt like a bit of a failure like oh god, you know, 4 years just gone and now I have to start again. Do you think a strong woman needs to see that she’s strong to be strong? I’m not sure, evidently not. I think you need to realise it eventually, even if you don’t see it at the time. No I don’t think you need to necessarily know it, you just need to carry on doing it. Yeah, just like own it, own life.