Body Combat...Yes, Body Combat

Last week one of the 25 year old trainers at my gym invited me to a “body combat” class. I HATE fitness classes. Everything about those classes stresses me out. I always feel like I’m going to be the only one in the class who can’t do something or I’m going to fall off one of those stupid stability balls onto my butt and everybody will point and laugh. So, combining the not-so-fun working out with possible humiliation is seriously not my thing. To add to the issue, the trainer is 25 and is a tiny, tiny little blonde muscle. I think she weighs 95 pounds soaking wet, but somehow still looks like she could bend a freaking crowbar in half. I don’t know her, but my hope is that she is a horrible witch. It’s only fair if you get to look like that.
However, I’ve had a terrible time with my workouts. I’ve been doing them, but I haven’t been working very hard and I have been hating it. The worst part is the hating it. It’s not good to have to do something every day that you dread all day long. So, in an effort to “shake things up”, I decided to give the class a try. Plus, the little hulkish fairy-princess has been hounding me all week and I just grow weary of avoiding her.
Body Combat is misleading. It has nothing to do with hitting or boxing or weapons. Which is probably a good thing since sometimes after a class people want to kill the trainer…that would just make it too easy. It’s basically a circuit training that mixes strength training and cardio. It’s nothing I would do myself, as it includes all these bands, straps, balls and other fitness accoutrements that I think are faddish nonsense. I obviously have a very positive attitude about the class already…
I start worrying about doing (or not doing) the class on Friday. Sunday I plan my entire day around this class and by 5, I’m ready to head out the door. Class starts at 5:30 and the gym is 2 minutes from my house. When I get there, I ask at the front where the hulkish fairy-princess’ class is going to be and they look on the schedule but can’t find it. Sweet!!! Oh wait…there it is….grrrr. I head back there and nobody is in the room, but it’s early so I hang out to stretch and worry. Then, I see her flitting around. I look at the clock; it’s 5:25 and I realize that it’s me and tinkerbell and I’m frightened. She knows I’m at the gym everyday and she is going to try to kill me with her crazy 25 year old fitness voodoo. She walks up and says, it’s just me and you and I was going to cancel but I have to workout anyway, so you can just follow me and do my workout. OH CRAP (that was me, not her)! So she gets her torture toys and we head to the weights area and we workout. I hung with her on just about everything. I really did. I could do everything except one excercise (which I think she made up on the spot to prove her fitness superiority).
Her: 25
Me: 41
Winner: ME! If you’re not first you’re last, baby! Everything is a competition to me and by my calculations I seriously won. Mostly because I realized that I can do more than I thought and it made me look forward to my workout today. She wasn’t a great a trainer but it helped me get out of my funk. I’m even gonna hire her to kick my butt a little more. Truthfully, I’m really not sure I need her, but I sure did like seeing that little girl get red-faced and sweaty…enough that I’m gonna pay to see it again. Hey, she’s sore today, right? Like can’t really walk quite right sore. Yeah, she is…I’m sure of it.