I Survived Body Pump

After my realization that Lab Girl was not my fat burner in shining armor, I decided it was time for me to really get busy, FOR ME.  But it was still so overwhelming!  I knew I wasn’t ready to step into Planet Fitness and onto a treadmill.  My friend, Vicki, asked me to go to a Body Pump class with her.  Body Pump is a class that is supposed to yield mega results, relatively quickly.  Body Pump scared me.  Exercise scared me.  But I said YES.  (Only it wasn’t in all caps to her…it was more of a whimper type yes…) 

As I was getting myself pumped up, to go get pumped up, I got a text message from Vicki, asking if I’d rather go to our local watering hole for cheap wings and beer.  Cha – YEAH!  She offered me an out.  She offered to do wings and beers instead of squats and tears.  But I didn’t waiver - I put workout before wings, barbells before beers, and bros before hoes… (The last one probably doesn’t fit but I was on a roll!)  The bottom line is that I could have copped out, and I almost did.  That one moment quite possibly defined a new me.  (Or was indicative of the fact that my bank account is way more supportive of a free workout than wings and beers, regardless of how cheap they may be.)  But let’s pretend I was just really motivated, the moment was very dramatic, and carry on from there. 

We walked into the class and I immediately picked my spot at the back of the room.  I was thankful there were no mirrors in that particular part of the room.  I tend to see those things as direct little tokens of love...to me...from God.  Vicki helped me get my equipment:  a yoga mat, a step thingy (that’s the official name), a barbell and various sized weight plates.  The instructor walked in and was cut up like GI Jane.  I was suddenly pretty confident that I could dig around in my car and find enough change to buy some wings.  Then I thought, "If I walk out now, everyone will see.  I do not want to do the walk of shame."

GI Jane had us do 4,000 squats, 1,200 lunges, several pushups (I did the sissy kind), and a bunch of other stuff that I am unfamiliar with.  She said something along the lines of, “Good warm up!”  Wait, WHAT?  WARM UP!?  I was sweating so bad already - I’m pretty sure that is what it feels like to be cremated!  But I pressed on – I didn’t complain. (loudly)  At one point GI Jane asked how we were feeling.  I said, “Like $hi#!” Clearly I was the only honest person in the room - or maybe I was just the only one who didn’t realize that the music track was about to end and my, “Like $hi#!”, that was meant for Vicki’s ears, was probably audible to the Queen of the Quads, GI Jane.  My legs were shaking, my feet were cramping, my body felt like spaghetti.  I was tired.  But then something happened in my brain when she said we were done.  I’m pretty sure if I could have lifted my arms, I would have hugged her.  My body hated her, but my head loved her, because I had made it through an hour of effort towards a healthier me. 

Of course, my head joined forces with my body the next day when I tried to get up and walk.  Um…OUCH!  And as anyone who has experienced such BURNING TORTURE can attest to, the following day was even worse.  That was exacerbated by the fact that we were at a lacrosse tournament and the only available bathroom was a port-a-potty.  Have you ever tried to hover over a port-a-potty seat when your legs don’t even want to hold you at all??

It was just one class, but it was the start of something.  What if I had copped out and continued on as I’ve been doing for the past 10 years?  Sure, I would have had a nice weekend of being able to walk without moaning.  I probably wouldn’t have missed the burning in my quads.  But I would have missed what the burn said to me, ABOUT me.  I would have missed the fact that while the burn may have been uncomfortable, I earned it.  That burn has the capability of drowning out the voice in my head that tells me it’s too hard.  Does the burn suck?  YOU BET!  But the burn also tells me that I worked hard and accomplished something.  The burn tells me that it doesn’t matter how graceful I look while I’m in the class, it only matters that I’m in the class.  The rest will follow.