Like many women, I had a pretty fucked up relationship with exercise growing up. It was always cardio, cardio, cardio, and the goal was to get as thin as I could in order to take up as little space as possible. As I’ve gotten older and reckoned with the damage I’ve done by fighting my natural frame, I’ve finally started exercising for me, not to achieve some image that society has imposed upon me. Here’s why I stopped exercising to get thin and started exercising to achieve the physique popularized by the 2012 movie anti-hero, Wreck-It Ralph.
It’s taken me years, but I’ve finally realized that I shouldn’t be working out to try to get my thighs not to touch. I want to be top-heavy as hell. I want shoulders that ask, “Can any body part get bigger than this?” and fists that answer, “Yes. We. Can.” I want to be 75% chest and 15% finger. The other 10% will be allocated for abdomen and legs.
Look, do I want to absolutely tower over everyone around me? Do I want them to live with the fear that I could crush them in an instant? Do I want a body that is physiologically confusing? Yes. Next question.
Do I want to walk around with overalls that unclip from one shoulder, two undershirts, and no shoes? Yeah, that too. I want it all, baby, and I’ll wreck whatever I have to in order to get it.
How do I intend to achieve this physique, you ask? Lifting more weights than you could ever imagine. Wake up: lift weights. Make breakfast: lift weights. Drive to work: lift weights with my eyes on the road and the steering wheel in my mouth.
But trying to achieve the body of the insecure villain turned sexy, self-confident hero, Wreck-It Ralph, isn’t just a physical game: it’s mental, too. For extra motivation, I imagine that I’m scaling the facade of the Fix-It Felix video game brownstone apartment building, and if I don’t lift more weights, goddamn it I’m going to fall right off.
This lifestyle isn’t for everyone, but by golly, it’s perfect for me and Mr. Wreck-It. Finally, the strong, powerful woman I am on the inside is reflected by my behemoth delts and ungodly traps. I’ve tried juice cleanses, 30-day ab routines, and a sprinkling of illegal supplements, but I can confidently say nothing has felt better than looking patriarchal body standards dead in the eye and saying, “Motherfucker, I’m gonna wreck it.”
