Back to the gym and I think I might need to get a burial plot — just in case.

It’s been two weeks since I returned to the gym after reality set in that going multiple times per week over the past year, taking up to 5 classes, was dangerous to my health and sanity, thus, I had no choice but to take a 4-month hiatus.  I started out slowly.  I thought I’d begin with something that was seemingly “easy”…

Hatha Yoga:  Walked in with my mat, but I hadn’t been in a yoga class in about 9 months.  How hard could this be?  I was not prepared for what would happen.  This was an hour class, and it became 59 minutes too long.

I’m not kidding.

I was sweating.  I was tense.  I was nauseous.  I was cramping.

I am completely out of my comfort zone with yoga.  The sitting quietly, deep breathing and bending of limbs like a contortionist or 10 circus clowns in a mini (my favorite car, which you already know by visiting this blog of mine) just doesn’t seem to work for me. The “downward dog”?  Uncomfortable.

The cold, hard reality:  Zen has eluded me.  I can’t clear my mind and “get in the zone”.  I felt sorry for my instructor.  She couldn’t have been nicer.  She was so patient, helping me throughout (which was a little embarrassing), so when she said, “See you next week,” I didn’t have the heart to say, “Hell no!” so I said, “Okay.”

My next class is this Wednesday.  Wish me luck.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

At least I'll look cute during CPR.

The last two Saturday afternoons, I’ve been fighting through hour-long classes conducted by one of the personal trainers…Body Sculpting. It gives you a workout.  I always drink what amounts to about four glasses of water by the time the class comes to an end.

There are points of delirium.  There are points of stifled hysteria (or madness…trust me, it really doesn’t make a difference).  There are points of gasps for breath.  100 jumping jacks, several rotations of slow runs, fast runs, high knees, butt kicks, side kicks, punching jabs, coordinated hand and feet criss-crossing.  And that’s the warm up.

I’ve prayed, mumbling so many times quietly through my wheezing and grabs for my asthma inhaler.  But, the Guy Upstairs either isn’t listening or is busy with other worldly matters. (I don’t blame Him. In the grand scheme of things, my near death experiences in T’s classes are trivial.)  I’m always in so much pain.  Getting through the warm up, 100 additional jumping jacks, countless frog jumps, mountain climbers, 4 – 6 rotations of weights, core exercises — push ups, sit ups…God knows what else.

This ain’t no beauty pageant, girls and boys.

I have to remind myself that before it gets better, I’ll need to keep the Vicks and Icy Hot nearby and 9-1-1 on speed dial.

Sigh.

Back to the gym and I think I might need to get a burial plot — just in case.

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3 thoughts on “Back to the gym and I think I might need to get a burial plot — just in case.

  1. Pingback: Yoga…The freakin’ saga continues…and not a Zen in sight. | brainypintsizer

  2. Yep. So I’ll just keep clear of it all together. No but seriously, I have not taken a yoga class since I got preg. with #4 and almost puked as well. Hang in there. Here to hoping it gets better.

    • Oh, I’m going to try to stick this one out. I’m trying not to be a quitter. I swear, that yoga class is just as hard for me as T’s body sculpting class. (T’s bootcamp class on the other hand is a whole different story. Not kidding. I’ve cried.)

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