I have done it. I have finally stepped out of my cocoon of self-pity, bit the bullet and decided to lose the weight. Well, I decided I wanted to lose the weight as soon as I gained it. I just never committed to really doing anything about it until now.
My 40th is coming up in 8 months. That scares the living crap out of me. I also have a (gulp!) grandchild coming into this world no later than a month (to the day) from today. When did I get old? My 19 year old classifies me as "middle-aged". When did that happen? I don't remember considering people in their late 30's, or even late 40's, middle-aged when I was a teen. Granted, most people wouldn't guess I was actually my age, I usually get at least 3 years younger, and have been -on good days- thought to be even 7 years younger... going by my face alone.
My body, on the other hand, with it's BMI of 29 and extra 60 pounds (to get to an appropriate weight - a 70 pound loss would be my goal to get back to my age 29 weight), does not - by any means - look 33 years old. I am so disappointed with myself. I was in the ARMY for goodness sake... how did I let this happen???
Ok, enough of the whining. Back to the present. I can't go back and change what has happened. So I have embarked on a brand-spanking new journey of fitness. Of running, even.
Today was the first day of Bethany's Bikini Boot Camp. And no. We don't wear bikinis to work out. But the boot camp part -- that is VERY REAL. At 5:30a.m. this morning, while resisting an oncoming panic attack walking into a group of veteran boot-campers, I had flashbacks of my first cold, dark mornings at Fort Jackson, South Carolina.. It was still pitch dark outside and I thought to myself, "I'm going to pass out." While 20 other women were roaring to get started, with their mats neatly placed in a huge circle, barbells on either side, I was still standing in line in the center waiting to hand my enrollment forms to the instructor. I felt the heat of my face flushing with embarrassment, finally handed her my forms, and took my place in the circle.
Since we were already 4 minutes behind schedule, the others had begun a warm-up of running in place. I situated my self and heard the instructor shout, "Jumping Jacks!" My first thought was, "Lord, please let this sports bra be strong," and I began jumping. I warmed up quick enough and shed my fleece jacket. "OK, this isn't so bad."
I was aware that this first day would be an assessment day. I wasn't sure exactly what that would entail, but I figured it would be along the lines of figuring out how pathetically out of shape I was. The first exercise was to do as many "man" push-ups as we could, holding perfect form, for 1 minute. I remembered this from the Army. Back then, on my first day, I could only do ONE push-up. Now, you must be made aware, that I am a perfectionist, and no matter how it may deter the amount of push-ups I crank out, I WILL show perfect form in anything I do. Otherwise, I figure, what's the point. I won't get the full benefits of the exercise, and I'll be working harder for nothing. Well, today, after not doing a full "man" push-up since probably 1995, I doled out NINE in 1 minute. Yeah, I know that doesn't seem like much, but for me it was a little victory that I could do more at 39 (at 190 pounds) than I could at 18 (at only 107 pounds). We had a neighbor be our partner for this to make sure our form was good, so Kendra counted out my push-ups for me. Then it was her turn. Kendra was beginning her 3rd series of Bikini Boot Camp, and cranked out 25 push-ups. Kill my victory, thank you.
Next up was holding the plank position for as long as we could. I misunderstood the instructions here and thought it was: hold the plank for 1 minute. So at 1 minute, with my lower back and abs burning and trembling, I dropped. I probably could have gone longer, but my feet were killing me, and Kendra kept reminding me to hold still. It's probably a good thing I dropped, or the strain I would have put on my feet would have never let me attempt the 1-mile run that came next.
I started off well, strutting a solid jog. The track was 1/3 mile, and before I got through the first lap, I had to walk. I felt like I was running on daggers and my lungs were about to explode. I kept trying to count my breaths... in through the nose 1...2...3...4... out through the mouth... 1...2... No good. Was this the panic attack coming on I had been so stubbornly resisting? I pressed on in a quick paced walk. In the 50 degree air, I felt hot tears fill my eyes. Then anger. I pressed on. I made it one lap and saw the instructor standing there... when I crossed the white line she shouted that I was at 5 minutes. Five minutes??? Are you kidding me? The tears streamed this time, along with the negative talk in my head. "You can't do this. Just go home, and stay fat. It's ok, your feet hurt, you have an excuse. You're too old for this. Just accept yourself the way you are. You are never going to lose the weight."
I was expecting to hear the instructor yell at me to get moving, that I was too slow. (Those dang Army flashbacks again.) But she just said to keep it up, that I was doing great. WHAT?!?!? Doing great? By now I was halfway through my 2nd lap, and had been passed enough times by about half of the others that I could see several campers finishing their 3rd lap and completing their mile. More tears. I wasn't actually crying, because if I had been I would have surely passed out from not being able to breathe. But I pressed on. At each light pole around the track I would try to jog as long as I could, and then walk when I could go no further. Once I caught by breath, I would jog again. I finished the mile, 3rd from last, at 15:02.
The morning wasn't over yet. Next up was step-ups, then tricep dips on the 18" ampitheater stairs - 12 each. I was so far behind, I didn't make it to complete the walking lunges, sprint and mountain climbers. My body already felt like jello. The crunches that came next were a welcome relief, at first. Then the reality of my weak core slapped me in the face.
We stretched, got informed on some boot-camp FYI and were dismissed. I wanted to throw up. I gathered my mat, my barbells and my jacket. My bag seemed 100 pounds heavier than when I toted it down the flight of stairs to the workout area. Now I had to go back up those stairs with every muscle in my body feeling like spaghetti noddles. I made it to my car, which was the last one at the very end of the parking lot. Pouring myself in, I could feel the sobs coming up from my gut, but I was too exhausted to cry.
I thought, "What am I thinking?" Then I immediately replace it with, "I made it through the first class. I didn't die. I didn't pass out. I didn't throw up. I FINISHED it. And I finished that damn mile!"
Wednesday, here I come.
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