It hurts to type this.
And I don’t mean that in the psychological way it sometimes hurts me to write about certain things.
No, I mean: it physically hurts me to type right now.
My right arm is incapable of being completely straightened, and my left has been rendered practically useless.
Showering and washing my hair has suddenly become next to impossible.
Seriously, you should have seen me this morning. I’m sure a hidden camera in my shower would have proven to be an instant YouTube hit.
And not just because I would have been naked.
At this point though, I’m starting to wonder if I will ever have use of my arms again.
Not because I’ve endured some horrific accident or suffered from a stroke either.
No, my current condition is completely self-inflicted.
You see, I’ve been feeling pretty damn good this last month. I’ve been dragging my not-a-morning-person butt out of bed at 5:30 every morning (and yes, I mean every morning!) to do half an hour of some kind of cardio (3 days a week, that means actually running in preparation for that half marathon I want to complete this summer). In addition to that, I’ve been keeping up a few week nights of Pilates a week as well. I haven’t dropped a ton of weight exactly, but I can feel my muscles working for me. Growing stronger. Breathing a sigh of relief after years of inactivity driven by endometriosis and infertility.
And as far as the weight is concerned – I’ve actually lost almost 20 pounds in the last year total. All very slowly, but… I really can’t complain. I’m smaller right now than I’ve been in 8 years, and I’m only 4 pounds away from my goal weight. So even if I keep dropping it at a rate of a quarter of a pound a week, I don’t care. I’m pretty pumped with where I’m at right now.
Because, like I said – I’m feeling strong. Healthy. Capable.
It’s a good place to be, and I am remembering every day how much I love feeling like this.
How much working out on a regular basis improves my overall well-being.
So when a friend asked if I wanted to go to a strength class with her on Monday night, I didn’t even have to think twice.
It was something new and exciting – I was in!
Who cares if Pilates is the extent of strength training that I do. I’ve seen my arms trim down and gain tone over the last year of regular reformer work. I could totally handle this!
Yeah, not so much.
I was the weak link in that class to be sure. First, completely thrown by the speed at which everything moved (used to the sedated breathing workouts I get in my Pilates classes). Second, practically paralyzed by my own lack of coordination and inability to keep up with even the simplest of moves. And finally, finding myself blown away by these women who were packing on up to four times the weight I was struggling with, even though as far as I could tell; they didn’t look any more fit than I was.
Let’s just go ahead and say it: the whole experience was humiliating.
A few weeks ago I was talking to my grandmother, and she was complaining about how impossible her new Kindle was to use. I not-so-subtly reminded her that technology had never really been her thing (seriously, the woman once needed me to write out directions for how to operate her cable box.) She began laughing (we are a family of people who do a lot of poking fun at ourselves, and each other) before saying “I know… it’s kind of like you and sports!”
Wow. Rude grandma.
I got off the phone feeling a little slighted. I mean, sure – I had ridden the bench on my high school soccer team almost the entire season long. A soccer team that even without my less than stellar athletic skills, still lost every single game they ever played. So, I was theoretically the worst player on the worst team in the district. And it’s possible that when my dad would sign me up for softball every year, the coaches would secretly argue about who it was that would be stuck with me that summer.
We’ve already acknowledged the fact that I am completely lacking in grace, poise, and coordination.
But damn-it, I was athletic! I was always running. Always swimming. Always biking. Always working out.
Maybe I had never exactly excelled at athletic activities involving balls (get your minds out of the gutter), but I had always been athletic!
And I was becoming athletic again! Physically fit in a way I hadn’t been in a while!
My grandma had no idea what she was talking about.
Except then, there was that strength class.
Where not only did I manage to completely humiliate myself, but I’m also fairly sure I paralyzed the upper half of my body.
For at least the next week.
Whilst using the smallest weights available.
In a room full of women all looking at me like I was the special needs kid who had accidentally wandered into the wrong room.
Which might have had something to do with the fact that when they began quickly rotating in and out of sit-ups and plank position, I instead just laid there.
Rolling around on the floor from my stomach to my back as they alternated, praying that no one would notice I was doing nothing more.
By that point, I had already given up.
Thinking to myself that this was one of those mistakes I wished I hadn’t made.
And resigning myself to the fact that: my grandma was right.
I suck at sports.
Making the score now Grandma: 1 and Me: -2 (since I’m currently out two arms.)
But come June, I’ll show you old lady.
I’m going to run that half marathon, and then you’ll see.
I am good at some sports.
Just so long as I don’t manage to break anything between now and then.
ADSPACE
