Sometimes it's not as simple as deleting a comment or blocking a person. When someone takes the time to write a hurtful message, they know EXACTLY what they're doing.
The internet is a gift and curse to many. Through social media, I literally went from being a novice athlete who worked out for fun to being sponsored and partnered up with some dynamic companies. And while I don't regret posting up my regimen, sharing highlights of my day through ASMR style cooking videos and occasional rants here and there, know that it's not as glamorous as it appears. In fact, I recently jumped up close to a thousand followers in the last 36 hours at the expense of being a target of heckling on social media. Oftentimes I am conflicted on calling people out, turning the other cheek or being vulnerable about the degrees of hurtful exchanges produced by strangers who hate me for breathing.
Somehow I managed to not kill off an entire population or get thrown over Trump's wall to date when I miss Monday workouts. I wonder what will happen if I miss all of the Mondays on the calendar.
Fortunately for all of Brooklyn, I found my way to the gym and after I type this post, I'll be running through some rain for a few miles because it's another day of the week --not because it's fucking Monday. If I allowed the fitness gods to peek into my already over-sharable life beyond what I show on social media, I might be offered as some cult sacrifice to the Reading Rainbow coalition. I've heard everything from not allowing your knees to cross your toes - yep, that's officially bullshit and you can Google check that - to not being considered a runner if you fall under a certain pace. Frankly, all of these rules can sit and rotate. This never missing a Monday logic makes me want to drink a Shake it Baby tea because of course, we know how well senna and laxatives work on the body.
I caught myself slipping in mid-thought as I walked into the gym a few days ago. Before I get pissed off about the New Year resolution crowd, once upon a time I used to be them. These days, I'm still baffled about how I became the popular fat kid in the locker room when I grew up in an era that picked those people last.
Before I pick up another cup of Southern Comfort and cream soda, I thought it was best to rock out this post. Here's a half-assed disclaimer: I might say some things that's gonna sound a bit hypocritical but you might look at yourself twice because you may have said it too. Now that this is out there, let's talk about my distaste for pretentious ass New Year's resolutions and my year in reflection.
Latoya Shauntay Snell
For my pretentious ass bio, check out the about me page but for anyone interested in who I really am, make me a good meal at your house and I'll tell you a dope ass story.
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