Week Two

As I wrap up week two of "Lose to Win", I find myself flaked out on the couch, typing this and watching "Dumb and Dumber" which is the most complex viewing I have the energy for.

It's been hard keeping all my gym commitments - tonight I did my Performance workout, followed by a Boot Camp.

Tonight's Boot Camp was the most brutal to date. I can only imagine that our insructor, A., had channelled some pent-up misplaced hostility into her programming. Eight sets of seven exercises, each turn twenty seconds, with ten second breaks in between, of the following soul crushers:

• Burpies - If you don't know what these are, just count yourself among the fortunate
• Squats
• Push Ups (on the floor)
• Double ab crunches
• Mountain Climbers
• Skiers - a "respite" exercise, kinder and gentler - and upright!
• And, just in case you hadn't yet lost your will to live by this point:
• Planks

During the planks, I was collapsed against the hardwood floor, feeling a wave of self-pity and condemnation - why had I let myself plump out? Why do I have the weakest, flimsiest arms in the country? And why was I listening to A., who clearly had it in for the class today?

Afterwards, I had enough energy to turn the water on at home, and sink into a bath of Epsom salts - sigh.

Zoom, Zoom

Due to an unfortunate set of timing circumstances - a 5 am Group Workout and a 6 pm Spanish class, I found myself, last Thursday, forced into Zumba class - the only option if I wanted to get in my 30 point group class.

The first and only time I had done Zumba was back in 2008 or so, at GoodLife, during my free trial - and vowed never again. Every memory I had of the hour spent working out to Spanish tunes, was underpinned with memories of humiliation and pain.

However, with points at stake, I saddled up.

Thanks to the intervening six years and countless workouts and classes, I was at least FAMILIAR with the moves. What I wasn't familiar with was the room setup. I had strategically placed myself in the far right-side, against the wall, a position akin to outfield. What I hadn't accounted for was the instructor's use of the wall-length mirror, so I ended up standing next to her, trapped in the front row, from which for everyone else, my "moves" would be a spectator sport.

Life has taught me to laugh at these moments of personal humiliation, so I just did my best to keep up to the beat and hope my movements weren't too many steps behind the instructor. Who am I kidding? Some of my moves weren't anything like the instructor's! And my arms and legs weren't my only swinging appendages either!