Scared

A co-worker talked me into joining her for a kickboxing class tonight. She goes regularly and is fit and cute and won't take No for an answer. Well, not no, but "Oh, man, I don't know... let me think about it." She stopped letting me think about it at around 2:45 this afternoon.

I get winded rushing upstairs at work. I'm fucking scared. I tried to get out of it - the class starts at 7 and I don't get off until 6 - but a freak accident involving the plumbing at my building meant everyone got to leave early. Now I'm going to go change my clothes and go to meet her at this class. Wish me luck. I have no grace or athleticism at all. I have only a keen will to survive and "The Eye of the Tiger" beating in my head.

By the way, this is not the previously mentioned new weight loss scheme I had envisioned, but we'll see. If I don't hurt myself or anyone else, maybe I'll stick with it.

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Meanwhile, my other friend at work is right now on the set of Hell's Kitchen. Did I tell you I had a dream about Gordon Ramsay the other night...?

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OK, so here goes a recap of my class tonight:

6:50 p.m. I walk in. People are milling around, of all shapes, sizes, and ages. A class of kids is finishing up on the mat. A young girl behind the counter signs me in and takes my photograph using a webcam straight out of 1999. I have no idea why she needed my picture. She seemed to be struggling with the software; I said, "that stuff is easy for me. I'll trade you," meaning, I'll take your picture if you do this class for me." She laughed good natured-ly at my stupid joke. Apparently the first visit is free, which is really nice. I told her I was nervous and she was nice and said everyone is the first time but that it gets easy. She said to take off my shoes and wait for the music to start, so I did. My friend had told me she would be late: she has two boys and a husband and dinner to get for them, but she would be there around 7:10. I tried to calm the fuck down. I was pretty much on the way to a low-grade panic attack. I have never taken a class like this before, and I was feeling really self-conscious.

I know, I know: relax, Irene.

It's so hard.

Anyway, I took off my shoes and stowed my purse in a cubby and smacked my head because I had forgotten to bring a bottle of water, which I knew I would want when the hour was over. I was right.

At 7 o'clock the music started and people spread themselves out on the big mat. I positioned myself in the back, but in the middle, where I could see what was going on. The first song up was "Don't Start Believing," by Journey. I thought, OK, so that's how they're going with this. We did a lot of jumping around and I kept up, sort of.

At 7:10 I was sweating a lot, not really doing the right thing at the right time, and thinking, damn, I need a sports bra. Also I was thinking, "where the fuck is Lily?" Lily is my friend's name. I've named her now, so you know she's real. She looks like a grown up version of Pucca.

The leader - a young, beautiful woman - was really nice: she probably recognized that I was totally new, and totally inept, and she came over to me a few times and told me I was doing fine, and to concentrate on the legs. It really is a lot of stuff all at one time. I have to admit that I was mentally kicking myself (yes, I see the irony in that statement) - I mean, I'm a musician. I was in marching band for 6 years. I can keep a beat, I can walk in time. Fast time, even. But I could not figure out the pattern of what they were doing for the longest time, and then I realized: 1) it has nothing to do with the music, 2) they do things in threes for some reason and 3) nobody was looking at me. There were women (and one man) there younger and older and fatter and skinnier and they were doing it their way and we were all sweating.

Me, maybe more than everyone else, but yeah. It was okay.

Then Lily showed up while the leader was putting me right with this crazy right foot forward, left foot forward kick back right leg punch punch thing, and she said to her, "this is my friend! She's new!" (in case she couldn't tell. I should've told her to tell her to say, "She's recovering from a car accident!") Everybody smiled, I kept sweating, and we all kept jumping around.

By 7:30 I had mostly been keeping up, maybe not on the right foot at the right time or looking too good, but I was still going, watching Lily, which was easier, because she was facing in the same direction I was (the leader faced us, and I guess I must be dyslexic or something, because I was always on the wrong extremity). Lily was really encouraging and nice and I am lucky she was there. Then, at 7:35, something happened. I honestly thought I was going to throw up.

And that pissed me off. I was standing there, sort of bouncing a little, and this other woman who had also been encouraging me from the back of the room (I think she worked there too) was watching me (I could see her behind me in the mirror, she had sort of stopped too), and then I thought, fuck that: I am not throwing up in front of all these people.

And maybe it was my will, or maybe I'm just not used to pushing myself or maybe I'm a total drama queen, but I didn't puke, and I kept going, though, slower.

At 7:45 we did these weird lunge walk things across the width of the room with weights (mine were 1 lb. each) and then we did some arm stuff and more jumping around and I kept watching the clock and I thought it would end at any moment, but we kept going, and then I thought I was going to literally die - my head was going to explode - but I didn't stop. For some stupid reason I kept thinking of all those old episodes of "Celebrity Fit Club" and how that Marine guy is always yelling and people push through and I know I'm out of shape- have never been in shape, really - and lazy and I eat bad stuff and this is one hell of a sentence, and I was really not happy (I think I said "fuck" about nine times in one trip across the room) and everything was sweaty, but finally it was over, and we were lying on the floor with a nice acoustic version of "True Colors" by Cyndi Lauper, stretching.

I wasn't dead, but I did want to cry, which I thought was a strange reaction. Once we were truly done, and Lily showed me to the bathroom to wash my red sweaty face, we talked to the owner of the place (okay, so maybe I smiled, nodded, and grunted, I really wasn't up to talking) a little, looked at the pricing and the schedule, and had I been alone in the car, I would've let it all go, but instead I thought about going back, and how fun it was, and again about how lucky I was to have listened to Lily, and how nice a fucking shower would be.

Which I've taken. And I've had a bottle of water and snuggle with Franny, and soon I will go to bed and I'm sure I'll be sore tomorrow. Right now I'm rather proud of myself (even though this was poorly written).