Long ago, at a time far removed from the present, where there were no cares and no responsibilities, where exercise was the norm and time was plentiful, I was a huge devotee of kickboxing classes. But then life got in the way. And kickboxing stopped for me. Just like that.
Last night I decided it was time to go back, a decision made largely because I really miss punching stuff and for some reason Mr Pencil will not let me randomly deliver 20 uppercuts to his solar plexus. So, ever so smugly, I returned to the class thinking I would beat the hell out of the punching bag, do a couple of press ups and then go home.
Unfortunately the reality is that I had the smugness beaten out of me.
As I walked in, to what I thought would be rapturous applause (but was in reality a snigger from one of the die hards and a look of concern from the instructor) I spotted a woman that was at least 10 years older than me. I thought I had better be kind to her after all she was much older than me and I was obviously much fitter than her (not that I am at all competitive). And I was kind to her. I thanked her profusely when she opened my water bottle after I had watched in awe as she did 10 one handed press ups. And after the class when I could hardly turn the key in my ignition, I never even thought of opening the car door into her as she ran past.
I thought my work out would produce a sexy sheen, an almost glittery glow to my skin from the tiny amount of perspiration that I would produce. It turns out I didn’t so much perspire as sweat bucketloads. And I never looked sexy. I looked like a wet tomato.
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I also believed that when I used my strong right upper hook I would look like a fighter – steely, determined and intimidating. Actually I looked depraved. Like I was having a fit while simultaneously yawning and sneezing. In scarlet tones.
I blithely believed I could go on for hours. Turns out that as soon as the instructor said “go at your own pace”, I chose 0km per hour as my pace.
I thought I had chosen my outfit well. Shiny and black – I looked like a super cool ninja (in the dark recesses of my imagination where I am Uma Thurman). It turns out that shiny tops ride up when you have to hold the bottom of the punching bag and do ungodly things with your legs. When you are whiter than the driven snow and wobblier than a pound of jelly, a top that rides up smacks the smug right in the eye.
And while my ego deflated at the gym I thought that was okay – I could come home and write about it. But when I got home my arms didn’t work and I could not open my laptop cover. So I admitted defeat and got my husband to run me a bath. (I threatened him with a turning kick – my smug was already showing signs of recovery in the safety of my own home.)
Have you ever had the smug beaten out of you?
I did my first spin class over Xmas. I fell off my bike twice. IT WAS STATIONARY.
I’m too lazy to go to the gym…I’d rather run around the house listening to Joan Jett or something really immature like that….
I did do a beginners Taekwondo class for a bit though, and actually managed to hurt my partner…when all we were supposed to do is practice and not actually make physical contact.
I went to a Mumfit type boxercise class in the park thinking it would be a nice cruisy introduction back into exercise. I couldn’t have been more wrong – between trying not to throw up or pass out, I couldn’t see for the sweat dripping in my face and ended up tripping over my own shoelaces. Needles to say, I never went back.
Tried to get back into boxing class about six months after Mr3 was born. Discovered the weakest muscle in my body was that pesky pelvic floor muscle. Couldn’t go back. We’ll just leave it at that.
Frequently. Never more so than when doing my Bronze Medallion. And like you, I had a “wet tomato” look. I think you should trademark that phrase by the way. I reckon you could make a fortune out of it!
So many good reasons not to exercise 🙂 Thank you all for reminding me to stick with walking because I’d be embarrassing myself the moment I started trying to do anything so coordinated and physical 🙂 I’d give everyone a great laugh while I tried though 🙂
Lana! I am so, so, SO proud of you! Well done.. Don’t worry.. I have been exercising for MONTHS now.. And I actually feel quite fit and powerful when I get going… BUT! I *always* look like a wet tomato.. That’s how I know I am working hard.. Is when the sweat drips off my forehead down through my eye and then into my mouth! *ew* DISGUSTING!! Even better when it slides down my back…. But well done… Oh and I LOVE ur blog…
I once thought I could write…then I discovered your blog. Doh!
I laugh because I’ve been there. Really. I love kickboxing, but got my smug knocked out of me when I was bent in half sucking air like Hoover on hyperdrive…all whilst my 71 year old instructor perkily demonstrated the proper technique for doing a jump push up and proceeded to knock out 25 of them. Whilst talking the WHOLE TIME. My face was also red…though maybe not entirely due to exertion.
I just had my first personal training session today, I haven’t exercised for a few years. It’s most embarrassing when the PT keeps telling me to lift my hips off the floor, I’m sure he doesn’t realise I am, it’s just gravity dragging my fat bottom down. I also thought I looked quite spiffy until I had to lift my arms in the air and my top had stuck to my sweaty stomach so my big belly roll was hanging out.
Good for you for going! I returned to exercise after a ten year/two children hiatus when my youngest child started school the same day I turned 40 and I realised I no longer had any excuses. Thought I’d take up running, because it was free and could be fitted in around the rest of my life and no-one had to watch me do it. Blithely started off with a 5km jog- which turned into a 100m sprint, 400 m shuffle and 4.5 km walk. A brisk walk though, I’ll have you know! Two years later, I can now do 6km while talking… aiming for a regular 10 by the end of the year. You’ll get back into it, and your smug will be there waiting for you!
I was staying with my parents for a while when I was 29 years of age and they were nudging 65, when they convinced me to come with them to their “pump class”. In response to my scoffing they explained that I could go at my own pace and choose the level of weights I wanted to lift. I was pretty fit at the time. For running. I hadn’t lifted any form of weights, pretty much ever as far as I could recall. That didn’t matter as I was young and fit. So I pushed myself a bit, but I didn’t think I was doing anything too difficult. Oh. My. God. I have never had so much muscle pain in all my life. My parents chuckled gleefully as I spent the rest of my stay with them, no less than five days, getting around like a cripple. I couldn’t get out of the car because that required pushing the weight of the door open. I am not exaggerating. I seriously could not get out of the car unassisted, such was the pain in my arms. I could barely drive as the strain of lifting my arms to the steering wheel produced stars in front of my eyes. Just walking was a challenge and anyone seeing me trying to ascend, or worse, descend stairs would certainly assume I was suffering a grave muscular illness or recovering from a serious accident. It was humiliating. My 60 plus year old parents enjoyed every moment as they tripped about on their nimbly without so much as a twinge in their limbs.
I run myself “ugly”- ’nuff said!