Honestly …

I think most of want to strive to be our absolute best. I know I do. The problem is sometimes what we want, versus who we are can completely steer things in a different direction. For me personally, the battle is between the Hopeful vs the Honest. Sometimes someone presents you with something that your Hopeful side thinks is the best, while your Honest side says we know this isn’t really going to happen.

My Hopeful side has had so many strident dreams. I saw myself as a non-smoker decades before it really happened. Even during those bouts where I actually quit, the Honest side of me knew, that with the right mix (usually alcohol plus other smokers) I would dabble until one day I’d just sort of say fuck it, and start smoking again. Maybe it’s self-prophecy, but that happened several times. Today the Honest side of knows the smoker in me has literally been extinguished. It just took longer than Hopeful had hoped for.

Every diet and exercise program I’ve been on, the Hopeful side of me hoped I would stick with things. The Honest side of me knew I loved pizza and pasta and laying around with my nose in a good book, or worse yet my eyes glued to Netflix, more than I loved Kale or Gyms.

Hopeful saw me getting up early every morning, and Honest knew I loved sleep too much. The comparison list goes on.

Last week’s foray into intense workout classes was absolutely fueled by Hopeful. But they weren’t costing me anything, and the benefits outweighed everything else in my life, so Honest sort of sailed along with it. By the fourth class, my knees were screaming, even with that day off in between. On Friday morning I took one look at the exercises of the day and saw the constant up and down on the floor adding into the mix the burpees and Honest said, yeah this isn’t going to happen, and turned around and walked out of the class.

I of course explained my position with the instructor and THE Trainer before the mellow dramatic exit and told them I’d see them Sunday for the 8:30 AM class, with Hopeful having complete intent on showing up. I sort of hobbled my way through the day, certain that whatever tendons around my knees that had been chewed up, would be fine in a day or two.

Fast forward to Saturday, and the pain seemed worse. Hopeful AND Honest had every intent of at least walking the lake. Didn’t happen. Not out of laziness, but out of sheer discomfort. I promised myself that I wouldn’t beat myself up over things, and tried to sort of take it easy. But the discomfort was a constant reminder. That night the pain had kept me tossing and turning and feeling whiny. I finally tossed in the towel around 6:30 Sunday morning and gave into my nagging conscience and walked the damn lake.

See I was a bit worried that Honest was starting to take control and smother Hopeful’s dreams. The walk, surprisingly kicked my ass. There was once upon a time when I was a speed walker, before speed walking was even a thing. Now I was having old people not just pass me up on the walk with no huffing and puffing, but they were – what’s the word when someone passes you more than once on the race track? Yeah, that was happening to me.

Whatever. I put my pride aside made the full mile, and headed home. I guess one week of working out doesn’t an athlete make?

The knees and shins were still hurting all day Sunday and I was starting to get a tiny bit alarmed. The last workout had been Thursday and there shouldn’t really be a reason for this so many days later. Come Monday I gave my doctors office a call, explained the issue and asked if someone could give me a call back. I didn’t need to miss work to make an appointment to have my doctor say, “If doing that hurts, quit doing that.”  I took the PA call, who after asking me of course when the pain started and me telling him about the classes, assessed I was probably pushing my aging knees that were holding up a shit-ton of fat (not the exact medical terms there) to a point they really shouldn’t be at yet. He suggested ibuprofen, RICE (Rest, Ice, Compression and Elevate) and commended me on the exercising, but suggested starting with lower impact – cycling, or water aerobics and get the weight off, before trying to stomp Tokyo to the ground. And did I still want to make the appointment? I thanked him and declined the appointment.

Honest of course was quiet in the corner simply saying I knew it and Hopeful was having an anxiety attack, because this seemed like the last Great White Hope offered to me. Hopeful was also aghast at having to call the Boot Camp and admit I was too fat and too old for their classes. But I did it. Well I texted, which honestly if I had things my way, I’d almost never take a real phone call ever again anyway.

I was alarmed and shook when soon after THE Trainer was calling me back. A). Phone calls. Ugh. B). I get horrible cell phone service in my office, and C). Have I mentioned she sort of scares me?  I let the call go to voice mail, where she surprisingly did not leave a message.

Honest me in the meantime was begrudgingly admitting we could walk the lake on a semi-regular basis, trying to appease the very heartbroken Hopeful me. I never dreamed I would get into Olympiad shape. But I had hoped to have rid myself of the non-smokers weight I had put on the past year, along with the baby weight that had been hanging on for oh — twenty seven years or so.

Later that evening I got a text from THE Trainer, saying she had tried to call, and hoped to reach me, because she had something she wanted to work out with me. I felt cornered. I don’t like feeling cornered. I texted her back and we agreed to talk the following night.

Tuesday night when she called she of course first asked about my knees. By this point they really were back to just being my regular knees that only hurt every once in a while, and I’m sure my oh they’re FINE, sounded like there had never been a problem to begin with. She bypassed that and told me she had a plan. How did I feel about her being my personal trainer. I laughed, because trainers cost an average of $50-100 an hour. No WAY I could afford that. She agreed that they could be cost prohibitive, but she thought she might have a way around things. Long story short, she wanted to modify my interaction in the class, working directly under her tutelage – keeping my knee issues in mind. They had a cycle, and a row machine and could add that to my repertoire and help focus on low impact exercises in the class.

Hopeful me perked. I mean REALLY perked. She asked me to give her a little time to work things out – details, cost, etc and would get back to me.

Now, I’ve mentioned my suspicious nature before. My internal narrowing of the eyes, knowing that nothing comes for free. She had mentioned to both me and my friend that she had lost her mother at a relatively young age, primarily due to complications from diabetes that the mother didn’t take care of. She’s told me more than once she doesn’t want to see the same thing happen to me. I’m sure she is sincere there, but when these offers keep coming through, I can’t help but wonder, what’s in it for you? That’s horrible if she is sincere. But suspicious me won’t deny thinking that.

Of course the company she works for is a business and not a You’re-Kind-Of-A-Bad-Diabetic-And-We-Care Charity. So when her offer came in today, I sort of went AHA! Without really anything substantial to AHA about. She’s offering me the same price she had offered before – the caveat is a six month commitment. The cherry on top – is one month free. I don’t know if that means seven or five months, I only know that Honest me was immediately going, Oh no, no, no. No, we weren’t planning on doing this THAT long. I mean, maybe I would do it that long, but now you’re forcing me to commit, and look at me. Look at my life – outside of my job, do I look like someone who commits to things?

So I asked if I could think it over and get back to her. And then I started to weigh things out, which turned into this blog piece.

The Pros are that I want to do this. I want to get healthy. I want to get in shape. I NEED to get into shape, or embrace life as a very temporary thing.

The Cons are that whole embrace life thing – eh, it’s a gamble I say.  I don’t know if I want to do it this way for that long. I had completely planned on doing a month-to-month basis, and hoping that my successes would spur me forward. If Honest me grabs hold of the reins after a few months and says fuck this, it’s dark outside, I don’t want to wake up now, I want to know I am not flushing already paid money down the toilet.

But having already paid will motivate me, Hopeful says. Bullshit, Honest says, Have you met me? Why so long?!!?, Honest me wants to scream. And then I have my !AHA! moment again. Because it’s a business. Because they are bending over backwards for me, making me a special case, and to do so, they have to be certain it will be worth their time and money. It’s definitely NOT a charity! –

I know what the right answer to this is. Sort of. Mostly. I also know what I am dealing with. I had hoped writing this all out would somehow give me more insight to things. Make the answer clearer; but it’s as clear as mud to me right now.

So I’ve already admitted THE Trainer sort of scares me. She is sassy and she is smart, and she’s not going to be manipulated, nor is she going to put up with a litany of excuses. She will work my ass off, and sometimes the scared anxious person inside of me wonders if she will literally kill me ala heart attack or something by working my delicate little butterfly unicorn self to death. But the truth is, I’ve seen what she can do. She sent me a video the morning after we talked when I made mention of how young everyone in the morning classes are – she sent me a video of a 64 year-old woman who has been working with her for a year who can do power push-ups (the kind where you clap in between each one). SIXTY FOUR FUCKING YEARS OLD!

So if I’m being Honest here, I can whine and joke and hem and haw. I can say I am hopeful, but without putting in the work – yeah even committing to it, it’s just not going to happen. I just don’t happen to like that answer. Honestly.

Days 3-4: Sports Bra Wrestling

This really isn’t a workout or exercise blog, so I imagine this will be the last posting about the recent metamorphosis of my sloth-like life changing into something completely unrecognizable.

After the Day 2 posting, my body really felt an ass-kicking. All day long simple things like say, lowering myself onto the freaking toilet or standing up from my desk sent stabbing fiery pain shooting from both the top and inner thighs. I assumed, like Monday’s pain, that by late morning the stiffness would abate.

I was wrong. But I’ve already written about that. I also assumed that when I woke up on Day 3 (Wednesday), I’d be stiff, and a bit sore, but nothing a good workout wouldn’t help.

I was right and wrong about that.

I woke up in searing pain, not limited to my thighs, but nearly every muscle from my neck downward. Maybe in the back of my mind I knew and pretended not to, but I decided my body needed a rest. The correct answer here is that another workout really would have worked the kinks out. Regardless, I felt no guilt resetting that alarm and getting nearly two hours more sleep.

All day, every time I stood up a sound somewhere between a grunt, a groan and a shriek emitted from my lips. I wasn’t capable of not making that ACCKMRRPHHHHWWAARRGG sound. Again as I moved a bit, the muscles seemed to abate a little from the searing pain, but not enough that I regretted my decision to skip Day 3’s workout.

I was surprised when the — shoot I’m not sure what to call her, so I’ll call her a trainer, THE Trainer, the one from Saturday – gave me a call to make sure I was okay.

Now this is where I know under the best of circumstances I could so easily be groomed into joining a cult. I absolutely melt under the care of someone who sincerely seems to be interested in my best interests. Despite the fact that I have this highly suspicious nature. Warning bells could be going off, but if you, the cult leader says just the right thing; I block all discriminatory thoughts from my mind.

She did seem sincerely concerned, and I explained the above mentioned. She gave me some suggestions. I asked her about the information that a couple of co-workers gave me about magnesium supplements and she said that was one avenue. Then she asked when she would see me next and jovially told her bright and early the next morning.

Who the fuck AM I? I really was jovial in my answer to her. Like I couldn’t wait to get there. She agreed to meet me and show me some tricks after working out , to alleviate pain the following day.

I had written in the one of the workout posts that I absolutely would not purchase any vanity laden items (read: new workout clothing and similar ilk) until I was certain I was committed to this. Well necessity stepped in and made it priority one that I needed a decent sports bra. I wanted to keep somewhat to my commitment of not overdoing things by buying the cutest most expensive ones I could find, so I compromised and figured Old Navy would have what I was looking for and headed there at lunch.

Sports bras are an interesting concept. They are, to the best of my understanding, supposed to be comfortable, and secure – first and foremost. For the first couple of workouts I had modified by wearing a regular bra and then a tight stretchy tank top over that, and then a regular workout tank over that. But the material of regular bras just sops up sweat, and is just plain nasty at the end of a hard work out.

Now I’ve never owned a sports bra, so I had to do a crash course on them quickly. I knew what I didn’t want. A tank top with a band around the bottom. So I started to do some quick research in the store. I learned quickly they ranked them by light, moderate and high impact. I knew whatever the fuck I was doing each morning, LIGHT wasn’t a word that qualified, so I stepped right past the cute little ones, that were all A-cup and no support looking. I next learned that high impact is hard to find. I located one that I hoped would be in my size – and took a couple of the moderate ones with me to a dressing room.

After figuring them out, with all their criss-cross strappiness I realized some pulled over your head, and some were sort of like bras, but those too had to be pulled over your head. Then if you’re really limber, you can hook it in the back like a bra. Only the straps don’t quite have the stretch that a bra does.

It’s not fun.

Finally after having a full blown wrestling match in the dressing room trying to get one of the bras OFF, I called it a day with the idea of getting a sports bra from Old Navy. For the record I consider myself the winner of that wrestling match, because *I* wasn’t laying all discombobulated on the floor when it was all said and done. In all seriousness,  I couldn’t imagine myself hot and sweaty after a workout and then having to wrestle my way out of one of these. I did however reward myself (as said winner of the wrestling match) with an adorable super soft mint green tank for ten bucks.

After work I decided to head to Kohl’s who I recalled had an entire workout department. I knew after the struggle of getting in and out of an over-the-head bra, I wanted something with a front closure. Something for High Impact (after discovering Moderate means bicycling at most). The problem once again became sizing, so I grabbed a few different sizes, and hit the dressing room.

Let’s just say, flattering isn’t the strong suit of these, on me. I’ve seen them on petite, tiny boobed women and yes they are freaking adorable. Mine wasn’t going to be worn anywhere but underneath my clothes, so at worst I wanted them to do their job and at best, maybe not make my boobs look like two sad pudding bags. I finally had it narrowed to two; one a front closure, with a hook and zipper, and one that was actually almost just like a bra, hooked in the back and everything. I tested them by bouncing a bit in the small dressing room, without calling attention to myself. Bent over and made sure nothing popped out. They both seemed to work. Decision time came, and I surprisingly showed some maturity and composure and purchased only one; the bra like one, because man that thing did its job.

Fast forward to this morning – The blind issue. I considered putting in a pair of contacts, but opted out. It’s been a while since I’ve worn them and I just knew there would be a chance of hassle. Sweat accidentally in my eye, blinding me for my drive home for one. I figured I’d just white cane my way through things. It had worked for two days prior.

I showed up and there was only one other car in the parking lot besides mine, and I hoped for a moment that perhaps I would be the only one there? No such luck, I was just the first one there.

The morning’s instructor already knew who I was when I walked in even though I had no idea who she was. She cheerfully introduced herself. (Again, feeding into my “this could be a cult and I would join” theory) I swear they find the most exuberant and helpful people for this place. Soon after a few more trickled in, and they introduced themselves as well. And what did my aging little eyes see? My first old lady! Well old as in about my age. Much better shape than me.  I made mention to the instructor about my eyesight and the old lady also had the same problem! Yaay for blinded fools who just want to be healthier. We made small talk and found she was relatively new too! Four months!

I knew because it was Thursday that this would be a weight day, which I’ve found I prefer over the cardio days. (I think Monday will scar me for life) The instructor told me she was more concerned about form than quickness, and based on that alone, she won my heart.

We had only one person per station instead of the team method, because we had so few people (a dozen maybe?). Because we had so few people I had practically a full personal trainer for nearly the entire class. While there were a few times where I just couldn’t lift that weight one more time, I soldiered on. Before I knew it the class was over! I didn’t even realize it and had to ask – “Is .. is it done? Did I finish?” I sort of stammered and cried at the same time, and suddenly they were high fiving me and telling me that YES, I did, I FINISHED my first full class. I wanted to cry with happiness.

THE Trainer (the woman from above) showed up about halfway through the class. Joked and said she was there to specifically see if I made it (I believe her) and she wanted to remind me she was going to show me some warm-down exercises to try and get the lactic acid out of my muscles. Yeah I’m just parroting that info. I mean I know what it means, but do I really? Regardless, she did show me things to do, and while my lats are feeling a bit tight, I’m nowhere near in the pain I was the first couple of days and the day is nearly over.

Today I started to think long term. No one has tried to sell me anything, but my trial membership ends in about ten days. Pricing is substantially less if I take the year-long contract, but hey it’s me we are talking about. I know how passionate I can be about something today and how that has the capability to peter out in a month or two. My friend suggested I give it a month at the higher rate and then see if I am still gung ho about it. I think that makes the best sense.

It saddens me to think this could be a phase. But it’s the reality. I’ve seen this over and over again, where life gets in the way, and you lose momentum, and soon you forget this passion ever existed. I’ve decided to live in the moment for now, and consider the health benefits it’s offering me.

Worst case scenario I got a really comfy new sports bra out of the whole thing.

Day 2

I’m keeping myself accountable on this one, and surprising everyone, possibly even myself that I went back for the second class this morning. Day 2 was weights versus cardio, which I looked much more forward to. Should have known better.  But before I went, I made a couple of adjustments.

1. Not certain where my brain would take me, and knowing how my body works (or doesn’t) with a lack of sleep I went ahead and took a sleep aide about 8PM last night. Slept like a wee lil babe from 9:30 til the squawking alarm at 5:30 this morning.
2. Brought my own water bottle this time.

This class was much fuller than yesterday’s class which immediately triggered my fear of being in a group setting with strangers. It was one of those moments where I considered maybe I could just slip out, and maybe this isn’t for me. Maybe I am taking up room someone else could use. I quickly swept those fears away and stood there a little awkwardly as people chimed their hello’s and good mornings to one another. It passed.

My fellow newbie whose name I didn’t catch yesterday wasn’t in this class. There was something secure about his being there for me yesterday. Kind of like a partner in crime. Instead they introduced another new guy; Jeffrey or maybe Jaime. I don’t recall. (for the record I’m no longer new, which I found a tiny bit sad) I didn’t partner with him, instead I sort of attached myself to a guy with a bright shirt who I knew I could see.

See, sight is a tad of an issue here. Obviously I cannot wear my glasses to class because hell, simply sitting at home when a hot flash hits fogs them up. My beet red incredibly sweaty (read: slippery) face would not tolerate glasses for more than about 30 seconds. As much as I really don’t want to pop in a pair of contacts for an hour class, I might not have a choice. Being able to see the station number, so that I can correlate it to the exercise on the animated front facing board is important for me. Right now, I can’t really see the numbers of the stations unless I bend down and squint, and I really can’t see the number it is attached to on the animated board ahead of me. Or by the time I do, it’s WHOOSH time for a change to the next station. Rinse, later, repeat.

So yeah, looks like I’m going to need to use my contacts. Blech.

I was surprised at how intense the weight workout was. Nothing as bad as yesterday’s cardio workout-from-hell, but still very intimidating and VERY hard. I was getting things down, but 30 second pie planks? I had my muscles shivering at 10. I was happy that I am getting better at the squats and lunges. But then came the core workout and Houston, we have a problem. Most of the core workout is on the floor. Floor means getting on my knees, and that my friend is where my age truly shows. Yeah I can get down. It isn’t pretty, but I can get there. And yeah I can get back up, but quickly? I’d no sooner gingerly get myself on the floor, then I’d have to get back up and change stations. I finally asked the trainer if there was anything else I could do besides that as it was killing my knee (no joke). She sweetly brought me two mats (and I felt horrible because I’m taking time away from others while she caters to me) and showed me a few things I could do, and I did them. And didn’t get back up for station change. Just did more of what she showed me.

I lasted til about 4 minutes before the class ended. That’s about 9 minutes longer than I did yesterday. I was pretty damn proud of myself.

Now I’m noticing this trend for the past two days – I go home, shower, get ready for work, make the drive in that’s roughly 30 minutes, and when I get out of the car BAM! something on my body feels like it’s about to give. Yesterday it was my left knee. I seriously thought I had screwed it up because the pain would be intense enough for me to stop and not move for a second. But after about 30 minutes in the office and it happening two more times, I was totally fine.

Today – after this workout it was my thighs. My once gloriously strong thighs. The tops of the them. The inside of them. The backs of them. THEY ACHE and when I stand, they do a slight newborn Bambi shiver. Did you know lowering yourself onto a toilet is the same range as a squat? So is sitting in a chair and lifting yourself back up again. My body is whimpering, but the sadist in me is laughing, as I wince. I swear as I walk I feel like my thighs are jutting out from beneath my dress like Arnold’s. I also sort of feel like I am walking like I went bull-riding last night. I only know for certain, the steps start out pretty damn slow.

Tomorrow will have a whole new instructor and cardio class. I’m not sure how I feel about this. I imprint on people I like really easily, and I really like the instructor I have had for the past two days. There are two kinds of instructors, those who correct you and with kindness can motivate you. (that’s the kind she is) Then there are those who are more drill sergeant and I’ve never worked well with those kinds. (that’s the way the gal who signed me up, and who I think is in a management roll is. She’s come by to help me out a couple of times, and while I like her, she’s definitely the drill sergeant type) I get the point of motivation and all, but as I like to tell people, I’m a delicate flower and work much better under kind circumstances.

I’ve also encountered a couple of really nice people in the classes. One was a woman who briefly said “Good Job” yesterday as I was gasping and wheezing and flailing about. She was back again today and again gave me encouragement and told me it will get easier. I quickly asked how long she had been doing it and she said since November. I sort of felt like we were prisoners and I was asking her how much time she has done. Then the bright shirt guy who I paired myself up gave me a bit of a high five and told me great job. Told me it will kick in after about two weeks.  Both made me feel really good about at least attempting this ass-kicking. Plus the first-grader who still lives deep inside of me, felt like I maybe made a new friend or two.

I made some mental notes to myself about this little journey thus far:

1. I need to remind myself to stop being so hard about not knowing what to do at each station. I am NEW here, and my expectations are unrealistic.
2. Don’t forget to practice how to do a jumping jack before tomorrow’s class. BE PREPARED.
3. I need to remember the towel is more for the benefit of others than it is for me. Just like at a gym, I need to place it down even if I am laying on a mat, if to do nothing more than to sop up my sweat. I am probably leaving some gross trail for others, but I didn’t notice everyone else doing it until I stopped and watched the last two minutes of class.
4. I’m giving myself a gold start for finally passing that peak of vanity where I truly don’t care how terrifying I look before/after a workout. A friend of mine at work made a comment about maybe meeting a guy here and I laughed, because trust me, that isn’t going to happen. I am SCARY looking after class.
5. I am REALLY glad I quit smoking a year ago. I think this class would literally kill me if I was still smoking. No joke.
6. I’ve decided I will reward myself with a good workout bra once I’ve proven I am really going to stick around with this. And two classes, or even a week isn’t proof enough. Nothing until then. Which is really a big deal, because I almost always put the horse before the cart and buy workout stuff with the promise of once I have it I will use it. LIES.
7. Despite the ups and downs on the floor already mentioned I definitely like the weight class more than the cardio one. I will try and make it to 35-40 minute mark on cardio tomorrow minimum. AMAZING how long five more minutes is when you feel like you’re going to die.
8. Working out reminds me of childbirth. You remember how horrible and painful it is, but then – you sort of don’t really. Like I know tomorrow will be painful, but do I truly recall how painful? No. It’s how we are able to continue doing it over and over again. At least for me it is.

I’m weirdly self-motivated to keep returning and I pray the motivation sticks around. Thus far I’d be lying if I said I enjoyed the classes. I think I enjoy punishing myself more. And honestly I can’t even say that I enjoy what I am getting from them, because I’m not there yet. But I am sort of jaw-on-the-floor proud that I started them (albeit unconventionally) with no excuses. AND that even though the first class was everything in life I hate, starting with profuse sweat – I fucking went back. Seriously stepped back into the fire. For that, I rock!

So Hell might be showing signs of freezing over

I went to a group training work out session very early this morning. Read all of those words slowly. Group; as in people. Training; as in, I don’t get to feebly decide how I should be lifting those weights and further deciding that reps of three are enough. Work Out; as in sweaty, exercise and by-the-way-what-the-fuck-did-you-just-call-me? (if I can get loudly defensive enough and throw a perceived insult out of nowhere, I hope it can throw people off long enough for me to skedaddle the hell out of here.)

How the hell did this happen you might be asking yourself. I certainly was asking it. I’ll tell you how – ELTON JOHN. Well kind of. Because HAD I simply gotten my freaking movie tickets on Saturday afternoon to see the movie, the entire day’s events would have been altered.

Goddamn I love an unnecessarily dramatic lead in.

To be fair, we started the day out with champagne at a friends going away brunch, and if we dug deep enough we could probably envelope that into our wheel-of-blame. But come on – anyone who knows me knows champagne goes into my bloodstream like royal water, and nary a bad decision is ever made based on the bubbly grapes.

Anyway as usual I digress. Where were we … Elton John. Tickets were sold out for the movie Rocketman, but as it happened a city festival was going on across the street from the Cineopolis. My friend and I saw two important things there; live music and beer. So we shelved our disappointment for missing the movie, crossed the street and paid our ten bucks, plus drink tickets and headed in.

The festival was a charity event held annually, and outside of the really good live music (and really good beer) and bouncy houses of all shapes and sizes, there wasn’t a lot more going on. People had brought their low slung chairs and beach blankets. Peppered around them were mostly just local vendors. I was cool with that, and we took our beers and meandered past a few until we ended up in an area I want to call Exercise Row. Tent and table – one after the other, offering memberships to different gyms, or training centers. I had no idea my city even HAD these many gyms, but really, is that any surprise? I can tell you where every fast food place in town is, but fifteen gyms in a four mile radius really exist here?

Each booth was offering their specials, with most of them showing something of their wares. Treadmills, free weights.  We stopped at one that had cycles, because I really had been thinking I needed to get off my ass and start a serious exercise regime. I knew from past experience a gym wouldn’t work, because left to my own devices I would come up with a thousand excuses of why tomorrow would be a better day. I mean seriously, this whole exercise thing has been based on promising myself to start either tomorrow, or next Monday. I think I started that promise last November. Maybe it was last August.

But the cycles? Yeah, I could do that, I told myself. I envisioned myself all bad ass and cycling, but before I committed (HA!) I wanted to make sure they weren’t going to do those crazy racing style of cycling– so I stopped to talk to see what the classes would be like. At that moment the part of my brain that registers nothing once alcohol tickles it—kicked in and started to take notes. “Mmhmmm … yes … yes, that’s what I’m looking for. Got it! Thank you!” — A second later we did an about face spin, like some sort of divine intervention had stepped in and where I should have zigged, I zagged and we backtracked down one table that didn’t have any equipment, or fancy prizes offered. They had a simple little bingo looking wire basket that held the red raffle tickets that offered a free month of membership for the winning ticket.  They had two in-shape, but not crazy muscular reps, one male and the other female.

I’m a very suspicious person to sell your pitch too. I’m always looking for the catch. In this case, I knew the “email” you placed on the raffle ticket was probably the proverbial foot in the door, but whatever. I also know most of the time the idea is to get people in the door, and then you can really work your pitch.

Maybe it was sincerity. Maybe the sales pitch was that smooth. Were they able to side-step and trick my suspicions? Was it the beer? Strangely, my brain shifted from the part that let information slide like water off a duck’s back, into the pay-attention-and-retain-this-info, mode. Back and forth they went smoothly, explaining how the program worked, the pricing, and how committed they were to my giving it a free try. They had my attention. Maybe it was the beer (it was definitely the beer) maybe it was the need for structure for me to get into the so very badly needed exercise. Maybe it was the way I was able to pour myself out to this guy (who ended up being the owner) like he was a free therapist, and I could list my reasons about WHY I hate Group. Training. Work Outs. My lack of coordination. My inflexibility – literally. (I truly have the flexibility of a cardboard cut out) My humiliation at not being able to keep up with the crowd and my coordination to boot.  He took my fears and complaints and doubts and polished them up all shiny and smooth and handed them back to me, until I literally didn’t have another excuse left. And trust me I looked. They even offered to pick me up and bring me if needed. I was sold enough to take the two week free membership and gave my word I would show up Monday morning.

The close friend I was with kept telling me what a great idea this was, and how I really should go, blah blah blah. Inwardly I was fighting my own battles. See those promises I constantly make that tomorrow or Monday I will start my new program come from a place that is sincere. I KNOW how important it is for me. On several levels. My diabetes first and foremost. Every day I don’t make a sincere effort is another day I am just asking for horrible complications, even — not to sound dramatic, death. Secondly is aging. I can literally feel my body losing muscle mass, and those times I actually get out there and do something, I feel like my body is SCREAMING thank you, because the sedentary work life I have has my hips crying after hours of sitting at my desk. But I also know that left to my own devices, I will make every convincing argument possible to procrastinate. Unfortunately procrastination is going to lead to an early death for me if I don’t stop fucking around.

I knew I had to do this, and the procrastinator in me knew it too. I had no reason NOT to. Wake up about 90 minutes earlier than my normal sloth like hours are and give it a freaking try.

All day yesterday you’d think I had been mulling over an assignment to hunt land mines in an open field. I was the only one who could do it, as the thumping Mission Impossible theme played through my head. My anxiety was rising off the charts. My procrastinator was reminding me how deadly land mines were. How they could blow a leg off of me if I wasn’t careful. Was I sure I didn’t want to rethink things? As I firmly stayed committed to it, the procrastinator made deals. Okkkaaay. We get it. You’re serious about things this time. What if we PROMISE to start walking the lake again? Serious promise this time. I stood firm.

By 9PM last night I knew I should head to bed. The procrastinator was acting as though I was going to get three hours sleep and then be flown out to land mines. Be careful of what you wish for, because sure enough I couldn’t sleep. I even tried to convince myself that if I woke up and was too tired I didn’t have to go. Anything to shut up the jumpy nervous voices in my head. No it wasn’t too hot to sleep. No, I didn’t need another glass of water. I think Samuel Jackson said it best, “Go the Fuck to Sleep”. By midnight I finally fell into a fitful sleep, which lasted until about 4AM. Fifteen minutes before the alarm went off, I finally hit that deep slumber.

As suggested by the gal I met at the festival, I had arranged my workout clothes the night before. Partially to save time, partially to avoid excuses but MOSTLY to make sure they still fit. It saddened me to see when I opened the drawer of workout clothes a brand-spanking-new pink and black Nike workout outfit my oldest had gotten me for Christmas two years ago when exercise was still a serious part of my life. It had been too small then, but I told myself I’d fit into it soon enough. Nike size Large for the record I believe is for 12-year olds, but come hell or high water I will fit into that adorable Pink Tee one day.

I was nervous. Simply put. What ifs filled my head. From the inane pride, fearful of looking stupid, to the dramatic part of me convinced that my heart might explode from going from zero to 100 so quickly. I pulled my hair back into a ponytail, and noticed how I wished my hair appointment was this week instead of next. Slid into the workout clothes, that I worried were dated looking. Washed my face. Reminded myself to hydrate a bit, and left. Stopped back at the house, because I totally forgot to even take a sip of water, and did I have to go to the bathroom too? I had told the woman manning the festival table I would be there at 6:05. Class started at 6:15. I got back in the car, noting how bright it was outside at 6AM and how I could have been walking the lake at this hour (the procrastinator told me it was too dark).

The woman who sold me on the free trial didn’t recognize me at first, but was happy to see me. I was slightly disappointed, because my dramatic side had pictured her looking out the window to see if I would show as promised. She introduced me to the trainer for that class, who honestly immediately had me at ease. Young little thing, but she reassured me she would work with me. I looked around and noticed everyone was a lot younger and had all brought their own water bottles. My clothes did look a tad “mom-ish” and dated, but I didn’t care. The trainer introduced me to the other new comer, a young guy who was a quiet as I was and then introduced us both to the whole class of about 16.

The concept of the class is 45 seconds of cardio with ten seconds of rest, repeated over and over for 45 minutes. Two people have access to one station with each station having a different form of exercise – it usually ended up with two full reps, and then – CHANGE, everyone rotates to the next station.

Here is the first thing I found out. It is possible to forget how to do a jumping jack. I honestly do not think I have done one sense junior high, but come on. They’re easy right? I almost wish I could see myself videotaped attempting this. Instead of X out, and I in, I started to flap, loudly because I was the only one who held onto my towel, as I did more of a Y and I. Jumping Jack myself down something that resembled a hopscotch path back and forth.

Immediately my body went into death mode. Alarms were sounded and we prepared for cardiac arrest. I couldn’t catch my breath and Anxiety jumped into mode in a screaming panicking voice “Icantbreathe, Icantbreathe, ICANTFUCKINGBREATHE!!” until I literally had to scream internally to SHUT THE FUCK UP, because that really is a anxiety attack inducer, and I was NOT going to mortify myself the first sixty seconds of fucking jumping jacks by falling to the ground in a complete panic attack. I did tell the trainer how surprised I was at being so easily winded. She didn’t make me feel stupid. Bless her heart. I am adding her to my will.

The other exercises went about as badly. I am too fat to do a proper squat or lunge. I DO NOT like getting onto the ground, and back up again, and flatly refused to do burpees, where you get down to the ground, only to quickly jump back up and do it over and over again. So I modified, like it was suggested. When we got back to the jumping jack station for the second time, this time about ¾’s the way through the class, I noticed I was looking straight out the open door into the parking lot, and I sort of gasped a joke if anyone ever just jumping-jacked there asses right out of here. The trainer laughed and said yes, it happened. I sort of envied that brave person or persons who just said, “Fuck this.” The next station was again burpees and my knee was already screaming NO MORE!, so she showed me something else I could do. After a minute more, with my heart pumping so loudly I was sure she could hear it, I told her I didn’t think I could finish (I was gasping and pouring sweat) and she gently prodded me on. I so didn’t want to disappoint her.

Side note here. When I was a kid and would head out to play, all vigorous activity would leave my face all beet red and sweaty. It was the worst when I played tennis. I’d come home looking like I was suffering a heart attack. I was fine. Just hot. Today – the same beet red face occurs. Of course much quicker and with my age and weight I think it does scare people a bit. Most of the time I have to tell them it’s okay, I just get really red faced and really sweaty.

Today – I forgot for a bit that happens (another advantage to this place is it isn’t a “vanity gym” as the owner explained, where there are mirrors to track and in my case humiliate, your every move) but I saw a tiny bit of alarm in the trainers face. She made a “as long as you aren’t having a heart attack” joke which I didn’t understand until I got home and saw my nearly purple face staring back at me in the mirror. So when I firmly told her 32 minutes into this that really, I was done – she didn’t argue–much. It’s easy for me to say now that I could have held out for another 13 minutes, but I’m not berating myself. I knew I had reached my limit. This was the first time I had done anything so hardcore cardiac in a very long time. Yeah I get the heart rate up a bit when I walk, but I’m not going to fool myself. It wasn’t a tenth of this. Even at car, and the ride home, while my breathing had regulated, my heart was still pretty thumpy.

When I got home, I peeled my sweaty clothes off and lay naked on the bed with the fan blowing on me for probably twenty minutes before I got into the shower. I’m not going to joke – this wasn’t easy. I had my ass handed to me. It was a thousand times worse than I thought it was going to be; both the class itself, and how out of shape I am. Right before I got into the shower, my knee felt like it was about to go out, and a part of me was “EXCUSE! I have a valid excuse!” before I hoped it wasn’t anything major. By the time I showered and walked around a bit, it was fine. It returned with a horrid vengeance when an hour later I got out of the car at work and I literally had to stop a couple of times because I couldn’t move it. The same thing happened with my hip once too. But yeah you don’t keep a machine well-oiled, and the first time you take it out, it’s going to cough and sputter and make some weird noises. I’m fine now.

I’m heading back tomorrow. I’ll remember a water bottle, and shoes that don’t fall off as you go into lunge mode. (Another rookie mistake) It’ll be low-impact weights this time. The classes shift on a daily basis, so that if I go five days a week I can do cardio-weights-cardio, etc. She warned me I’ll probably be sore tonite. And for the next few days. I know I looked like an ass with my flapping jumping jacks and my inability to do a proper squat. But I love that I don’t really care. The other new guy who worked with me, and bless his large heart really was giving it his all, despite almost getting tapped in the face with my flailing towel, quietly cheered me on at one point. It meant a lot to me. I did the same for him as I slipped out early. I just hope I feel this way come Wednesday when I have to do it again.

I hope for a lot of things; That I can keep my voices at bay. The ones who tell me to sleep in a little longer, or falsely argue that every other day should be enough. The ones that whine, or panic. I hope I can figure out what to do about my hair, because washing it daily isn’t an option, but neither is sweaty workout hair. I hope that this spark I captured, trickles down to spark other things, like some of my food choices. As for the humility, I think it’s pretty well tampered. I mean really, those jumping jacks – how could you not laugh?

Perhaps I should consider practicing those before I go back.