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Back when I first started doing comedy, when the very idea of comedy didn't exist much further than my home club, I was in the finals of the contest they hold there. People kept telling me I was going to win. Oh, for SURE I was the best one of the night.
"You're going to win this, Katrina!"
I remember the night clearly. The club always plays some random DVD for music prior to the show and Billy Joel was playing. Whoo HOO! An Omen in MY FAVOR! How could I not be anything short of spectacular with Billy starting the night?
I tanked.
Hard.
I bit it on stage like I was Augustus Gloop heading for a chocolate river, people.
Friends and family alike did the "Avert thine eyes" thing when I came off that stage. I received the obligatory "You were funny" remarks with such a lack of enthusiasm and honesty it was as though they were delivered with a gun pointed to the speaker's head.
I wasn't funny. I did not do well. I TANKED.
The very next week, I showed back up at the club. Head high.
The owner and the house MC laughed at me as I walked in the door.
"We took bets on whether or not you'd show up here again....."
In the words of Bugs Bunny, "Dey don't know me vewwy well....."
Of course I showed up again. One set back does not derail me.
Since that night I have had other performances that have been less than stellar, but nothing quite as gut wrenching and stark as that FIRST major tanking on stage.
It's a painful thing to watch, really: A bad comedian. Perhaps they aren't a bad comic so much as they're just having a bad night. That's what happened that night. My timing was off. I attempted new material that wasn't funny. I opened my mouth, got off on the wrong foot, and kept stumbling with zero chance or even ATTEMPT to right myself.
That kind of shit happens.
I haven't been to the gym in a month. Between a horrific hormonal battle with Aunt Flo and a cold that will not clear up, I have let myself get back into the game of Random Excuses.
I do see not being able to BREATHE properly as a reason to not mount an elliptical, but it boils down to making excuses when the reasons linger too long.
I haven't stepped on a scale in a while. I don't need to to know I've probably put at least 10-15 pounds back on. I can tell in my face. I can tell by how my clothing fits. I can feel it in my veins like someone replaced my blood with a rather thick and rich gravy of sludge.
In the past, when weight loss and health were the goal?
I'd just quit and be done.
It was easier. It was easier to wallow in my unfortunate genetic build up than to fight it. It is very easy to slip up and embrace lazy than regain the momentum built by actions that are far from lazy.
I've had a set back. Not because I couldn't do the work, but because I made a choice to become lazy again. Complacent in my indifference.
Now the guilt should come in. Guilt leads to guilt eating. Guilt eating leads to more fat. And so the cycle goes.
Yeah, fuck it.
Not this time.
I screwed up, but I see it.
And like the choice to get back on stage or accept failure came years ago, I make a choice to NOT GIVE UP just yet.
There's still an athlete in me waiting to get out. I shall stop smothering her in neglect and continue to try to find her.....
6:16 PM
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