I just turned twenty-nine recently (yes, I am still accepting “happy birthdays” you can comment below) and let me tell you, it is no joke that your metabolism starts to go in the shitter. I used to think that I was blessed with a great metabolism until I hit college and gained the freshman 15 and then some. Now, at the tender age of twenty-nine, if I even inhale the fumes of a deep dish pizza I have to hit the gym for two hours. It’s annoying, disgusting and not something that I want to deal with but I have to.
My Birthday Cake!
I have to deal with it by watching what I eat (total bore if you ask me) and going to the gym more often. Don’t get me wrong, I actually enjoy some exercise in my life. It’s the over-extending myself in order to enjoy a decadent fudge brownie, after dinner, that makes me want to give up on life, turn into a bear and go into hibernation.
But this is not a post about how much I love food and how it’s ruining my life. We will save that for another day. This is a story about how I joined a training program at my gym, took my first class three days ago and still feel like I might need leg replacements. THREE FUCKING DAYS AGO and I still don’t have full use of my legs right now.
I walked into the class super excited and ready to regain full control of my body. Disclaimer: I am not completely out of shape or overweight for that matter, but when your ten-year-old cousin tells you that she can “see a double chin and your butt hardly fits on the seat,” you know you are going in the wrong direction.
Me Before the Gym
On top of being optimistic about this first class that was a kettlebell exercise, the instructor was extremely cute with a cool accent and a tight ass. All a major plus. Little did I know, though, that I would end up wanting to throw my kettlebell at his face by the end of it.
The warm-up alone made me want to walk straight out of the class, cancel my gym membership, run to McDonald's and never look back. “Alight, we are going to start with sprinting for one minute, jumping squats for one minute, jump rope for one minute and repeat that three times.” The instructor said in his cute ass British? accent. I actually am so bad with accents that it could have been an Australian accent for all I know, but I always tell myself: “When in doubt, say British.”
Um, I’m sorry come again? Did you say repeat that three times because the last time I worked out that hard, was when I carried fifteen bags of groceries up two flights of stairs so that I didn’t have to do it in multiple trips.
Then it was time to start working out with the kettlebells. Burpees, squats, jumping squats, sprints, push-ups, more squats, more sprinting, lunges, more jumping squats, more sprinting, back to squats… In case you haven’t been keeping track, I had to do like five hundred squats with the kettle bells hence why I thought I would need some leg replacements. This all continued for an hour with really no breaks in between.
By the end of the training class I didn’t know my middle name, didn’t know where I was, how I got there and couldn’t look the instructor in the eye. I was exhausted and thought I was going to need assistance in getting to my car. It was the worst and best exercise that I had ever done. And here I am three days later, still alive to tell you the story and oddly excited for the next one.
I finally learned what a “real” workout looks like and know that it’s going to motivate me to get into shape. I can’t let one extremely hard class deter me from going back and you shouldn’t either.
Final Thoughts: My legs are still extremely sore, but I am going to the gym as soon as I am done writing this. Also, a very special thank you to my ten-year-old cousin for noticing my double chin and extra-large ass, otherwise I may never have signed up for this training program.
Do you have any good gym stories? What motivates you to get your ass to the gym?
*Article also found on: Kinzie's Kritiques
Published by Samantha Kinzie