I’m officially desperate. Not only I couldn’t go to the arena yesterday, I’m not going tonight either. I have my husband to thank for that. I’ll go on Friday, but come on, who has nothing better to do on a Friday night? Just me. I got out of my therapy session yesterday feeling like a lion. I walked around town just feeling super sexy, spotting cuties and getting drunk on my femininity. And then I found my husband on the couch gloomy and snarling. I understand him, I do, but I just don’t feel it. There’s nothing I can do about it. I’m high on happiness and hope and he just drags me down.

I feel like a liar, not because I’m not telling him about coach but because I keep saying that things may change. Truth is I’m just scared to stop one day and realise what a big mistake I’ve made. But until that day comes, I don’t believe a word of it. Besides, that day may never come. I feel like I’m letting him swing back and forth in the name of such a remote chance, it looks ridiculous. And in all that I perfectly realise that if it had happened to me, my life would be devastated. But I just can’t feel bad about it. There is no pity I feel, no guilt, no memory of the love we had. It’s horrible, I know, and I only see the possibility it might backlash one day, that I’m going to feel what I’ve put my love through. Now, I don’t feel it, not a hint.

Anyway, when I finally got out on my own over an hour later to go to the supermarket, I just had to buy my very first copy of Cosmopolitan. It was calling me. And today, outside my house which doesn’t feel like home anymore, I started flipping it through. OH MY GOD! Now, after more than 15 years from the moment my tits showed up, I understand what it means to be a woman. It’s a stupid magazine, not a Bible, I know, but damn, it was a revelation.

The one thing that really upsets me, is that I was supposed to do this at the latest five years ago. It is thought for 23 year olds, not thirty somethings. I have always been “late” in things: first kiss, boyfriend, first time, first serious relationship. So I guess it’s natural to be late in this too. The problem is the world out there. People my age are usually in relationships or getting married, just as I did. What exactly am I going to find for me out there? Do I have to seriously start claming I’m 27, find younger friends and dating younger guys because the others are all taken or have other interests? According to Cosmo, most men would like to settle down in the age span of 21-34, maybe even start a family. No way. I don’t know if I’m ready for a serious relationship right now, but I guess that would come naturally with the right kind of guy, but a family? Hell, I’ve never wanted children before, I’m definitely not going to start now when I just freed my inner caged teenager!

I found out in those pages about one of the golden bachelors currently under the spotlight. Of course he is cute and rich and famous, bla bla bla, but I would like to get to know him because he has recently been through a pretty similar situation. Married in May, by September he was already separated. I would so much like to know what happened. Right now, my wedding feels like the ultimate act of desperation, the moment you give up and stop pursuing your dreams. While this rebirth is me kicking and screaming “Not now, not yet, I’m still here, I still want to fight”. Gods know I didn’t really feel like that, I was happy and it felt like being secure and quiet and content forever. I still don’t understand how it could all change so profoundly.

It also says that men often look up the online profiles of the girls they are interested in. No wonder, I do that all the time. I thank the Seven for Facebook, Twitter and the whole lot, for at least this way I have some information about him. Problem: what if he does too? Ever since dear old MZ decided to change the settings of our pages on FB, you can navigate freely amongst photos, friends and whatnots. What if he looked up my profile and saw the pictures of my wedding? What if it wasn’t just a trick of my mind, what if he was reaching out indeed until he stopped when he got to the truth? I desperately need a chance to talk to him, I can’t let this go south without even trying.

I am still indulging myself way too much on fantasies, I spend too much time daydreaming about him, that’s always been my problem with men: I imagine them. But this time, I perfectly see this is not reality and what I really want is not so much that my daydreams may become true, I want to know the real him. I feel so lucid about this for the first time in my life. It’s like having a blank canvas in front of you and a whole set of colours next to it. Only some of the colours will end up creating the painting, not all of them, where the chosen ones create unique shades and effects. I am curious to know what those colours look like. Of course, I may not like it, or I may like only a part of them, and some others will not be matching my expectations. But so be it. Nothing is written in stone, I don’t need him to be perfect. I would like a lot of things, I want some of them very strongly, but I don’t need them. Maybe for the first time I realise, I do not need the love of another person, I don’t need it to survive right now, I only need myself and the desire to keep living and experimenting. All the rest is a blessing and a miracle, that may or may not happen. I really only need to love myself right now.

Still, this is a fight I’d love to fight. Against the odds, against the old me, who would have just sat in a corner waiting for fate to reveal himself, without making a choice. This is the fight to get to what I want, and I may not get it but I’m tired of not even trying. I am the smith of my own life. I have let my brain be my rudder in every single situation in my life, and since relationships have always been a smaller portion of my decision, it has mostly worked just fine. But “the day has come, and I want off that ride”. I want to be free to make mistakes, to hurt people, if necessary, in order to do what my heart tells me. This is what coach is all about. I’ll be wrong, I’ll make mistakes, and if I won’t be able to mend them, I’ll live with the consequences, but I won’t blame myself for not trying, for not believing, for not following the “stupid” part of me instead of the “brain”. After all, I’ve been hurt so far, again, let’s try change for a change.

What does all this have to do with the sport? Maybe everything. It may have helped to force out my femininity, it pushed me toward my deepest and oldest dreams, it gave me the confidence to believe in my potential, it chose me amongs dozens to be part of the best, it makes my body look and feel better that it did when I was 16, it provided me with an excuse to be alone with myself and really look at me and my life, it asked me to dig out my old music and rediscover my connection to it, it gave perspective on my life looking all the times in the past when it was with me, it gave meaning to the present because I had to reevaluate the past. And someone still wonders why I say I like coach just because he was at the right place at the right time? More than enough I’d say.

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