We all know the age old saying, "Competition is healthy."
But is it really?
Coming from someone who battles constantly with herself, I can say that honestly, No. Competition is not healthy for me.
I can't speak for everyone though. Some people love the challenge and in some very minor aspect, I do as well.
If we think about it, ever since we start school we live our lives in a giant Rat Race.
Racing against the guy to your right for better grades and the girl on your left for better looks.
It's enough to fry the nerves of some people...meaning me.
Call me selfish. I like winning. I only like competition when I know I'm better and will win without a doubt.
Though when I'm faced with a challenge that will require effort, I tend to turn and run like a frightened pup.
Take for example the real reason I'm writing this blog (because whoever really reads these knows I write when I'm feeling some sort of way.):
Recently, I feel like I have been unwillingly entered in this race against my own significant other.
His job is physically draining and they train daily. His body is changing. He was attractive before but now seeing him shirtless kind of bewilders me
and makes me wonder how such a spectacular person could be real.
and then there is me. At slightly more than 250 (ah, whatever.), I'm...less than a model. Repeatedly he has told me that I'm beautiful and that he prefers bigger women either way -to which I took to the internet and googled if skinny men were more prone to be with larger women and came to find out that yes. For various reasons.- and that I needn't worry.
Easy for you to say, buster.
Anyway. Now I feel like I have to be up to his pace now and get my body in order. In a way, that's good and it motivates me to lose weight. On the other, I'm one lazy fuck and being involuntarily pushed to doing something grinds my gears like nobodies business.
To sum things up. No, I'm not saying I'm holding ill feelings towards my love or his job -haha- I'm just ranting that I'm annoyed at the fact that now I'm in competition with my babe to match his looks.
To which I have one thing to say:
You got yourself a Rat Race, buster.