Physical Weakness Prevents the Accomplishment of Much that Otherwise Might Be Done

This morning I reviewed my new trusty gym schedule and decided to attend Kickboxing I. I was not very daunted by the thought because two years ago, before I began my masters program and gained a ton of unsightly weight, I was kickboxing weekly, spinning 3 times a week, swimming and doing a combination of yoga and pilates. I was actually pretty good at those activities and I knew that I could hang in a beginners kickboxing class.

I walked in the studio at 11:45 as the class was beginning. A very perky blond with very perky breasts and a very perky ponytail and a very perky voice and a very perky smile welcomed us to the class and introduced herself as Sandi or Candi or Bambi or something. She was perky. Harmless. She put on a very perky song with a perky beat for stretching. I smirked internally, knowing that this would be easy. Then, she took off her very perky hot pink sweatshirt and revealed muscles for days. Damn. My internal smirk faded slightly.

Then, all off a sudden, this voice that sounded like it had emerged from the pits of hell shot out of her mouth as she began shouting orders to scissor leg, upper cut, right jab, left jab, left hook, jump! hop! kick! and kick! and kick!. My internal smirk evolved into an internal cry of distress.

I looked around the room for the first time. That's when I knew I was in trouble. A woman who had to be 65 (judging by the bad tan, the gray hair, the wrinkles and the unmoving plastic breastst) was in front of me, kicking ass. Another girl was to my left kicking ass. A girl to my right was kicking ass. I moved to the back and tried to avoid getting kicked in the ass.

Anyway, you all know I"m not quitter and I am fiercely competitive. I refused to be the new chubby girl who quit. So, I sucked up the pain, and got my butt in gear. After 10 minutes, my entire body was covered in sweat: there was sweat in my hair, there was sweat in my eyes, there was sweat behind my knee caps, there was sweat on my back. I was also the only one sweating.

Still refusing to quit, I looked at the clock, knowing that this torture had to end sometime soon: 12:00. I had only been in there 15 minutes and I thought I was going to pass out. Another 10 minutes passed and we were deep into kicking and boxing. Billy Joel shouted from the sound system. Eye of a Tiger got us all pumped up. The beats got faster, more intense and so did the workout.

Then, Candi-Sandi-Bambi said "what a great warm-up! Let's get ready to work-out!" Warm up! WARM UP? I laughed to keep from crying. Just when I thought it could not get any faster or more torturous, it did: high jumps, high kicks, low punches, low kicks. Sweet Jesus.

She then insructed us to work at our own pace, go at our own rate, blah blah blah...I thought to myself "MY pace is on my couch with a bag of Hershey Kisses and reruns of 'Ugly Betty'" But, I still refused to be the first to quit, even though my limbs were on fire and my body was screaming in pain.

Then, grace intervened. Another woman snuck out the back door. Since she left, I would not be the first quitter. I smiled inside, knowing that relief would soon be coming my way. I suffered through 5 more minutes and then managed to manuver myself toward the back door. I could see the outside world. Follow the North Star! Go North! Freedom!

Just as I managed to slid by the door and my hand hit the knob to freedom, Candi-Sandi-Bambi yelled out over the sound system: Thanks for Joining Us! Come Back Again! Thus announcing my low-profile exit to the masses.

Bitch.

*M*