GYMNASTY-ICS by Glynis M. Belec

     Five years ago my ovarian cancer diagnosis slapped me in the face. After initial moments of my world crashing in and consuming me, I pulled up my big girl stretchy pants and prayed. Then I slapped back. I decided to focus on the positive, confess that it was God in control - not me and make the best of each day.

     First, I determined to be joyful that my stint at the gym for that past year had paid off. I’d jiggled and gyrated 23lbs off my middle aged body and because of that I was able to feel an odd lumpy area in my abdomen. That forced me to high-tail it to the medical wise ones for further investigation. Left any later, they tell me things might have been a lot different. They found two honking tumours on each ovary. I only felt one. Second, I was glad that the whirlwind began. Before I knew it I had surgery, chemotherapy, lost my hair, lost my dignity, fought the good fight and won!

                 ‘Course, given the whack of steroids that accompanied the bittersweet poison, the exhaustion and the menopause, I gained all 23lbs back and then some. I blamed my weight gain on anything my addled chemo brain could muster.

                But now that I have reached the magic ‘five year’ mark, I have run out of excuses. I needed to do something radical. Like exercise. So I did it. I took the plunge. I signed on at the local gym once again.

                How thrilled I was that it was 24 hour access, too, this time. My plan was to sneak in at opportune times when no one was there. I feared any young buck guffawing at me and my jiggles. I wanted to become a new me again without anyone watching me sweat. I needed free reign to grunt, to move from one torture device to another and to scream in agony if I had to.

                It’s taken a while but this past Saturday, I found the best time to be alone at the gym. 12:30 am. All was well for the first 30 minutes on the tread mill. Then I decided to switch the station on the TV. Not sure if was my heavy breathing or grunting but I needed to up the volume. The temperamental remote didn’t seem to be communicating nicely with the TV so I hopped off the still-moving treadmill and got closer. Presto, it worked like a charm.

                I headed back to the treadmill and hopped back on. Within a few seconds my life flashed before me. My middle age body was catapulted against the partition and quickly dropped to the floor. There wasn't a lot of room between the row of beastly treadmills and the back so I was pinned against the wall with my knees in prayer position – burning like rubber as the conveyor belt continued to turn at level 5. I could almost sense God shaking his head at His crazy clumsy female creation now curled in a fetal position, who always manages to land herself in immature situations. 

                 I didn't know whether to laugh or cry but I eventually untangled myself and smacked the ‘stop’ button.

          Perhaps I need to reconsider my workout time choices. What I am really freaking out about, though - the many 'all angle' video cameras in our 24 hour access gym.  I know God doesn't need a video camera to see me and He understands my heart and my lack of ladylike tendencies. I am really grateful that He loves me no matter what, but right now I am a little concerned about America’s Funniest Home Videos and Facebook and Twitter and stuff like that. Sigh.

Romans 8:35

 Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? Shall tribulation, or distress, or persecution or famine, or nakedness, or danger, or sword?

Glynis Belec, a freelance writer, author and private tutor, faces each day with hope and thanksgiving. She rejoices daily that she is on the right side of the grass and counting blessings is getting to be a daily addiction. Glynis loves capturing life in words and can’t wait for tomorrow so she can feel inspired all over again. gbelec@bell.net