Sometimes A Rebel Has To Sit Down and Ask Herself; "What the hell am I resisting here?"

As a child, I was the stereotypical tomboy. I had short hair, got into fights with boys, and strangled my best friend during Latch Key (she started it). I played catch with my Dad, rode my bike everywhere, and loved to climb fences, until I ripped the skirt of my school uniform. I played soccer, softball, volleyball, was a cheerleader for my middle school basketball team, and even trained with my high school track team for a month until I got shin splints. As I got older, I was much more interested in the performing arts and I had less and less time for sports.

By the time I got to high school, not only was I a full fledged theater and choir dork, I hated sports. I became bitter and jealous. I despised anyone wearing a letter jacket. All the attention and money went to the sports programs, and us singing and dancing freaks felt rejected, regulated to Building C, on the other end of the school. When Pointe Chorale won gold medals at the State Solo & Ensemble Festivals, our community barely noticed. But when the graduating seniors on the Varsity Baseball team came back from the State Championship game, in the middle of graduation, the entire crowd stopped to applaud their victory. Bah humbug.

As a college freshman, I quickly became a party girl and stoner, the complete opposite of physical fitness. My roommate, Colleen used to invite me to go jogging with her. My answer was always the same; "I don't run unless I'm being chased, and even then I'd probably try to talk my way out of being attacked." My free time was spent sleeping late, recovering from hangovers, and curing "the munchies" with Taco Bell or Mac & Cheese. At the very least, I was still dancing, until I injured both my knees by rehearsing for a show without properly stretching or wearing kneepads. My own lazy-hazy ways directly led to a very painful week, weak knees for the rest of my life, and the emotional pain of watching the show from the audience and wasting almost two months of hard work.

As a young adult in New York City, I tried my best to steer clear of anything sports related, even sports bars. There was nothing more revolting to me than a crowded bar full of loud, angry drunks yelling at a mass of television sets. As a singer in a band, this was fairly easy. I spent most of my time on the Lower East Side, either playing gigs or watching bands, and musicians aren't usually very sporty. But when you're a woman who dates men, you're eventually going to end up dating a sports fan. After my "groupie phase" passed, that's exactly what happened to me. I met someone who was a nice, healthy balance of creativity and physicality; an aspiring actor and writer who was also a high school jock and an avid football fan. Someone who made me want to explore something other than my dark side.

Opposites often famously attract, and that describes our meeting in a nutshell. At first, we didn't seem to have anything in common except that we graduated high school in the same year. I listen to Radiohead, he listens to Dave Matthews. He's a Tampa Bay Buccaneers fan who plays Fantasy Football, I thought football was boring and pointless to anyone who isn't a caveman. I preferred pot and nicotine, he despised smoking of any kind. But I discovered he had a sharp wit, his sense of humor was even more irreverent than mine, and we shared a similar goal; to live a responsible, healthy life. And somehow, by the end of the night, we ended up kissing despite our differences and my ashtray-mouth.

Attraction is easy, but being a relationship with someone so different meant facing some harsh realities. Being comfortable in the short term, avoiding any type of pain, was actually more important to me than quitting smoking, eating healthy, and being physically fit. To be a successful actress, I had to do more than make fun of Britney Spears from the safety of my living room. To be a successful writer, I had to turn off the music, stop scribbling, and focus on being honest on the page. If I wanted to grow into a person I could be proud of, I would have to do more than just talk. It was time to start making the changes I knew I wanted to make. For the first time in a long time, I had someone who cared enough about me to tell me the truth without sugar-coating it. Someone who made me accountable for my actions. Someone who helped me see that the dark side can't exist without the brighter side of life.

This morning, with the first week of P90X Classic behind me, I rolled out of bed, slowly stood up, and let out a loud "oooooooouuuuuuuch." My butt, my thighs, my calves, my everything was sore for the first time in months. I had to skip two out of six workouts because I was so sore. It felt like Round 1 (P90X Lean) had never even happened, and I think that's the point. That's why you take your workout to the next level. You stumble, you burn, you tense up, but then you breathe, you get through it, and you become stronger, more flexible, and have a new, different perspective. I could've given up yesterday but I didn't. I challenged myself to see what I was made of and it felt good. I even went for a walk later in the afternoon with a friend instead of just sitting on a park bench talking.

I remember what it was like spending all my time and energy avoiding things I now look forward to and I'm so glad I made the change. It turns out I was only resisting myself, giving in to my fears, and I'm proud of myself for every day I fight instead of giving up. I'd also like to thank all those who gave it to me straight, told me the truth, showed me a new way, reminded me of my original way, wouldn't let me give up, and still believed in me when I took a step backwards. I have a feeling this second week is going to be even harder and I'm ready. My goal is to complete every workout, no matter what. That means you, Plyometrics. I'm gonna kick your squatting, lunging, jumping ass, even if it shreds my ass! Hey...it's better than sitting on my ass.