It’s funny. I put so much energy in so many things but there’s no balance in it. But when I want, I will bust my ass. And I kind of did for the Miss Jet Set event. For those of you who aren’t aware (I’d be surprised, because I was advertising my pics unabashedly), I have been competing for the Miss Jet Set Competition for the last month.
I kind have stumbled upon it, half seriously applying thinking no way in hell would I get that far. And when I found out that donations (dollars for votes), I’d sell myself for the sake of these kids that have cancer. A few bikini shots, but mostly artistic portraits, fitness poses, begging Facebook friends to donate or vote. I used all of my social media, pretending not to care. I aired on the side of the girl next door, as opposed to the alternative.
I started in 44th place, then reached the 28th, and ended in 20th place. Not bad I guess for a girl that doesn’t have a body of a goddess.
It ended, and during the whole event I had been horribly sick. I started with the flu, laryngitis (which I still have) and then they found some infiltrate in my lung. Against doctors orders, I occasionally spoke. Finally I came to my senses, and I started using a white board and dry erase marker. Funny but difficult.
The point is, all this rambling, is that it made me think. You know how you keep doing the same things over, and over, and somehow you fill your time with things that just don’t go anywhere? Well that’s basically what I was doing.
Boxing 4-5 times per week, some during the day some in the evening. Lifting at lunch, lifting at home. Working, trying to meet deadlines, answer questions, being as efficient as possible.
What did I need to throw in there? Rest. Yoga. (My body is f’d) I laid down, with my arms perpendicular, palms up. Guess what my hand doesn’t touch the ground. I can’t seem to stretch legs out too far and flatten out my body out too much either. I forsee this as future problems.
After I get well, I have to throw in Yoga. I may have to buy some yoga sessions. That way I go just for that purpose. I hate yoga. I’m a boxer. I hit. I punch.
But it’s time to take care of myself.
More later. More writing too.
Bye for now. L.