Insecurites

The goddamn alarm is going off and all I want is to burrow my head under these pillows. I'm not good enough for this. I just know that I'm going to walk into this class full of seasoned bad-asses and I'm just going to stand there by the front door and they are all going to know. They're going to know that I have no idea what I'm doing. That I'm green, inexperienced, maybe too old to be trying this out for the first time. And then they are going to laugh. Laugh inside their little heads about me. Maybe they'll laugh about my clothes. Maybe about my hair. All I know is that they're definitely going to laugh about me. 

I shrug this thought from my mind and throw my feet on the ground. Fuck it. I always do this. I do this every time. Every single fucking time. Every time I decide to try something new I let my insecurities creep their way into my mind and out through my actions. I'm tired of it. This is something that I'm doing even if I have to roofie my orange juice and manhandle myself onto those mats. 

Wrestling mats. I remember when I was 13 and I used to watch this show called Monday Night Smackdown and this wrestler, this wrestler the "Rock" would come out and onto the stage. He would come out all ripped and then these fireworks would explode and everyone would cheer and whistle and scream. I remember being glued to the screen and being downright amazed at how strong he looked. I wanted to be strong just like him. Fuck, I wanted to BE him. So every Monday night I would do push-ups and sit-ups during the Smackdown's commercial break. I figured that in no time I would have a physique just like him. 

But that never happened. Its been twelve years since then and although I've made some progress, I've come to realize the difference between working out and eating right to shoving steroids up your ass like suppositories. I've tried it both ways. One's just more expensive. So I eat my scrambled eggs, oatmeal, and roofie-free orange juice, go outside, get in my car, and head down the road drugged free.