By now you are probably aware of my fight against my weight. I decided (like I have in the past) to kick it into gear today. I headed to the gym, read the schedule and decided on Muscle Resistance Training class. It was in 15 minutes. I hopped on a treadmill and ran a quick mile while I waited for class to begin. (Yes a whole mile in 15 minutes which is saying something considering the last time I was at the gym was over 2 weeks ago). Let's get a little cardio in before I work on muscles right?
As I hit that one mile mark I realized class started in a minute. I hopped off, went in and stood waiting for instruction on which resistance bands to grab. No one was grabbing anything. I asked the fellow gym enthusiast next to me why no one was getting equipment and she said you don't need it. OK I thought maybe it's Yoga inspired type of resistance. Nope, I then heard her say "this is
Body Combat". What I learned was that "Body Combat" means sixty minutes of pure unadulterated
cardio hell.
Now, I work hard in spin class. I love having jelly legs after getting off the bike. I sweat in spin class. I love spin class. I love sweating. It makes me feel like I'm doing something, I'm taking an active stance in my health. Sweating is a good thing to me. This wasn't sweating, this was your insides trying to escape through your skin so they didn't have to endure another minute of this class. This was every muscle in your body moving for the full hour of the class. This was torture, that I received for thinking it was Tuesday.
One may assume that because I was in band I have rhythm. One would assume gravely wrong with that. I was not in the percussion section for a reason. I can't keep a beat, I am far from coordinated. I spent this hour being reminded of these truths. She said two knee-ups I did one on the wrong knee then tried to quick switch to the other knee only to now be five moves behind. Let's just say I was consciously aware of the big glass window behind me and assumed the entire gym was having a nice giggle over the chubby girl in grey who obviously doesn't know her left from her right.
By the end of the class I was a sweaty mess. Not to be confused with hot mess, I'm not talking pretty sweaty like the girls they show in the commercials. I'm talking the ugly sweaty where it's a running down my neck, back, and a sweat ring under the boobs. On top of that I spent an hour gasping for air. So now I have a sore throat, aching muscles and I smell like a boys locker room.
But this isn't a negative blog post, because if you read back through you'll realize at no point did I say I quit. The instructor, Amy H., was amazing. I wanted to quit but she kept yelling at us, singing (loudly) to the music, exuding energy and enthusiasm. I nearly puked at one point, and wondered how to sneak out of the brightly lit room without being noticed. But I didn't. At 15 minutes I told myself to just make it to 30 and then I gave myself permission to leave. After all, 30 minutes of this is a good starting point considering I had done nothing for days before. At 30 minutes, I told myself I made it this far I could do 15 more and skip the abs and stretching at the end. At 45 minutes, no way was I quitting with only 15minutes left.
I completed the class, the hardest exercise class I have ever experienced but I learned a valuable lesson about myself today... like I need to learn how to read a damn schedule.
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