A Gym Story
So the Friday before last I was at the gym, in my normal spin class, just spinning away and almost (well not even almost) enjoying my exercise routine when the instructor, Kevin, announced a new class he would be doing. The new class was at the new gym which is a good 15 minutes closer to me. The new class had a nice bland name: Sports Conditioning. Now really, that doesn't sound too difficult does it? I asked Kevin, " is there a lot of choreography?". No, not at all he tells me. This is good because I have two left feet, am beat deprived, and have a brain that has trouble with the simplest of verbal directions. I am convinced my eyes see everything backwards because I have trouble figuring out even the most of basic of dance steps, even while I watch the person demonstrate. What can I say? I have issues. So Kevin tells me this class will be great, wonderful, take no special skill, and that I most definitely can do it. Hmmm, I think what he meant to say was, "this class will kill you, its a special kind of hell I thought up to torture my worst enemy, even the most seasoned athletes will hit the floor crying and grabbing the their quadriceps while screaming in pain."
Since I was unaware of what he meant to say I went to the class. It was at 5:30 last Thursday. That is three full days ago. It still hurts to stand up. It hurts to sit down, bend over, walk up or down stairs, walk in a straight line, brush my hair, roll my eyes, and a bunch of other things too! Yes friends, Sports Conditioning, really translates to Death Class. There were crunches, lunges, weights, some horrid, horrid thing called mountain climbers, there was stepping up and down on a step...super fast, until you couldnt catch your breath, there were curls, flys, and a multitude of other things meant to make your arm muscles quiver. By the time the class was over my legs were jello. I was surprised that I managed to walk out of there on my own power. I was by far the worst in the class... BUT all the other people in there looked they were about to die as well, and this includes the girl with the rock hard body who looked like she could knock me on my butt with a flick of her finger. She left early. I finished the damn class (amazing what potential humiliation will do for you). I finished and I limped out on my own two feet. I went home and sank into my favorite chair, where I had to sit the rest of the night because it was impossible for me to move again. I sat there until Friday. On Friday I had to get up and host a slumber party (because I am a glutton for punishment). I stood all through the party... if I had sat I would have been unable to get up again, for any reason.
I went back to the gym yesterday, you know... a little hair of the dog. Just as a bloody Mary can perk up a hangover, a little elliptical and weights can help you once again be able to sit and stand. Now don't get me wrong... it still hurts (ALOT!) but at least I can get out of the chair. So let this be a lesson to you... Sports Conditioning = Death (or something very close to it that hurts twice as bad.)