I woke up at the early dawn of 5:30am in the morning and thought about him. Originally I had intended to write this post last evening when I came home from the gym, and all through the early hours of this morning, the sun rose to what appeared to be a tiresome day while I contemplated how my mind can be on two opposite spectrum. Powerful and lost.

What can I say? I suppose societal pressure dictates to us the amount of times that you can seek condolence from your peers after a breakup. Coupled with my rigorous X-Y-Z mentality, I tell myself all the logical reasons how I am going to get through this. People tend to digest the news better when they hear that you’re fine. And I am. I feel easier, with my daily thoughts less congested. Every so often, a sweep of bitter emotion/jealousy over what could have been does consume me. I tell myself this does not take away from the purity of how I felt. You are only human and these short-lived poisonous emotions will fade.

What actually helped was this cruel karma that at least I, happen to see in this light. Everywhere around me, the universe seems to be teaching me a lesson. Binge watching season 9 of “How I Met Your Mother” –  I watched Ted struggling at 34, rapidly losing faith in finding the love of his life, and realized how impatient I am. TV shows are easy though, they congest 9 years worth of the possible contingency’s of one’s love life, no, a fabricated character’s life no less, scripted in roughly 20 odd minute episodes to relay to you how many things can change and happen over the course of time. Witnessing that, I felt like being the child that picks up a book and skips to the end before they begin

I’ve never been that child. I read books cover to cover and relish it all the more for the body of paragraphs in between.

In my real life, this omnipotent message hasn’t lessened either. One of my colleagues just returned happily married from his newly wed wife, who has and still does live in India while he has been in Canada. When asked, he said, “Some long distance relationships work, and some don’t.”

To understand that this is the bread and butter of my book can be hard to digest. Like any growth spurt from fateful immaturity, I’d at least want to control the speed of which I can read through this chapter. Funnily enough, when I came upon the word control, I thought of many instances in life, but one of which I can choose to control right now.

Here is the division in mindset for me:

Focus on you.

That’s being at the gym and being a newly certified trainer for me.

“I want everything that you are to turn this way – and come at me.”

This sentence brings me to the moments of so many out-of-breath and haggard women, half way through the kick boxing circuit where I train, to suddenly alert their eyes upon me with the last few seconds as something I perceive to be permission granted.

“Yes, kick/punch/fight through this bag… and into me.”

I know there are many scientific reasons for exercise to make us feel good, but let me say this: to realize your dream is to get up in the face of tired, sometimes aggressively exasperated women, might I add with punching gloves on, and to yell at them to rock that upheld bag into your core – that has been the best form of therapy if there ever was one.

And this is what I do.

Whenever my thoughts drift amiss into the ironically shy, romantic girl that is also me, I think of what it feels like to hear the impact of my punches/kicks. Like cracks of fireworks that detonate across the gym floor. Make heads swivel. Make an example of yourself. For this work out, you will leave it out on the floor. Herd your power – think of the position of your body, turn your knees, swivel your hips, rotate your core, extended arm/raised leg, this is the last body of contact – bust it out.

This is my happy place.


It’s the duality of understanding that I am a women’s kick boxing trainer and a good one, because that’s important to me, but that I’m also human and romantic and lonely as a temporarily deflated young woman who has just gone through a break up. My mind races to soothe myself on why things happened a certain way with this man, but also how women come up to me after their work out for a fist bump because they’re grateful for my faith and enthusiasm into them. It’s okay to let yourself grief a bit, but focus on this energy because this inspires you. Bring your voice to the floor and command them to give you their best, then feel women of all shape and sizes rise to challenge themselves because of you. Train hard. Grasp this. Get your game on, Sarah. Focus.