You get there and you think, all is well.
She's really cute. She has kind eyes and a sweet voice and she tells you not to be afraid to modify any exercise that you need to. Got it. I can do that.
"We're just gonna get started by warming up running around the track. Go at your own pace and I'll flag you when it's time to head back."
Perfect. I'm a runner. This is what I do. I'll smoke these bitches.
Um...okay...not so much. That's alright. Breathing heavier, feeling the blood flowing, I head back into the class. This is doable.
Let's remember that the only reason that I'm here is because in the last 6 months, I've had to change it up.
For the first two years of my running life, I really only had to run...and mind you, I ran a lot...but I then had license to eat and drink what I wanted.
Post running my first marathon and inching closer to 40, this is not the case. And so, upon the advice of my husband and good friends, I've surrendered to cross-training and lifting. Apparently, I need to traumatize my metabolism...shock my system into submission. At this point, I think the only thing I've traumatized is my ego.
Have you done a burpee before? How about a mountain climber? Spiderman push-up? Side plank? Kettle bells? Jump squats? Weighted lunges?
Shit. I thought long distance running was where the bad asses lived. Fuck no. The hard core mother fuckers are the people who do this cross fit noise. Holy Mary Mother of God.
Allow me to share what happened this morning...After multiple sets of arms, legs, abs, and high cardio bursts, she announces that we're going to finish up with burpees because they really do the job and in a weird way, she likes them. Oh God. She wasn't the woman I thought she was.
Below is a you tube video if you have no idea what the Hell I'm talking about...
Suffice it to say that I do not look like her when I'm doing these bad boys. No, I caught a glimpse of myself in one of the five million mirrors that adorn the room we were in and what I looked like was a middle aged woman with a tank top that had flown over her head, her tummy or 'food baby' as I fondly refer to mine launching out of her tightened spandex pants and a face that looked like it was going to explode from lack of oxygen.
It really was a banner moment.
It was at that point that she said, "If you're hating these, keep going...your body will love you for it later."
Sweet Mary, Joseph and St. Jude. My body may love me later, but my dignity has long since exited the building.
I'm mindful that there are people who are much older than me who are fitter, stronger, and completely capable of blowing my ass out of the water. It is because of them...particularly, those more senior runners on race day that teach me who's boss...chances are they've been eating their Wheaties and doing their burpees.
God I hate these cross-train exercises...but I'm telling you what...if they make me run faster, live longer and have a smile on my face in the process...then, onwards and upwards...hopefully, with my tank top and dignity intact.