I’m not all that unfit. I went out running again this week, and I still manage my 5k in under half an hour. I’m also dead on my feet after doing this and then crawling up eight flights of stairs to the top floor apartment as I learned.
Today at work, one of my colleagues invited me to a fitness class at her regular gym. I’m a gym-o-phobic, but she’s a pretty nice person and not all that much into the grind-you-into-the-dust-with-my-stilettos lawyering. I decided to go along with her as this day’s been rather relaxed at the office, and the secretaries’- err, excuse me, assistants‘- comments have gotten a little sharper lately. Plus, I still need to get down from competition-ready, and a fitness class seriously didn’t sound like too much work. Had I only known…
I was dragged kicking and screaming from my reading- working on something big atm and need to get into several foreign systems of law- and into my sports clothes. My usual bun was tightened up and I felt ready for anything. “This is going to be soooo bad!” my colleague groaned as our trainer- a very cute, muscular guy- came into the room. “He’s second worst after L., a female trainer.”
Second worst? Uh-oh. I was kind of out of it, my head swirling with Macedonian property law.Up front at the mirror was a cute fat girl stretching slowly, and I wondered just how bad it could be if she could do the class.
“Let’s get warmed up! We have an intense two hours to go!” Trainer Guy enthused. Twohourswhatthe…? I didn’t sign up for that!
Long story short: I was wiped after the first hour of jumping all over the gym, up and down a stepper (thing isn’t really stable), doing push-ups (which I hate because of messed-up wrist), some kind of torture method involving free weights, a ring tube, your leg, and getting on all fours, jumping around some more with weights and resistance tubes on our body, power jogging in place (OK, that one I’m used to), doing kicks and punches (used to that too), and kangarooing some more just for fun.
Then I looked to the front, towards the mirror. Cute fat girl was bouncing in place, ready for some more, while my colleague and I were just staring at the wall willing the clock to just move past those 30 seconds we needed to stay in this power hold. I was feeling miserable as hell- she caught my eye, smiled and hopped around like an energizer bunny while the rest of us struggled groaning trying to catch up with this next cardio interval.
Another hour later I was not quite as miserable anymore, I was very happy, exhausted and not able to move another muscle. Colleague was off worse, Cute Girl and Trainer Guy were continuing their exercises up front at the mirror, and I was once more ashamed that I couldn’t shake my prejudice. Seriously, I know there’s a lot of people heavier than me who can thrice beat me in any given sport. But whenever I see someone who doesn’t exactly look fit in a place of exercise this little voice in my head goes “you can do better than this one!”. It’s what has been drilled into me since I was little.
Colleague, by the way, recovered enough to join me for dinner eventually. We made some delicious loup-de-mer steaks with steamed broccoli, gorgonzola-walnut-mezzelune and quick white-wine sauce I whipped up in the pan we’d grilled the fish in. For desert, I just made some real simple lemon yogurt mousse from scratch. YUM!
Colleague wants me to make her dinner every day. I feel rather flattered!
… maybe we could do this power fitness thing again, too? I rather liked it after all!