To sum it up:
I puked and then I cried.
The long version:
It started out okay. The class was small, only 7 other women in the class, an instructor, and her assistant. As we started out, I was like, "Okay, I can do this." I even let myself feel a little bit bad-ass for punching and kicking.
However, by the 10th time through the sequence? I was huffing, puffing, and pouring sweat.
By the time we got back to the sequence after doing jumping jacks (which, I must say, I NEED A BETTER SPORTS BRA, HOLY CRAP CHIN BRUISES) and punching the bags? I was dry heaving and had to run to the bathroom.
Came back out, and we did 20 seconds of jump-up-then-touch-the-ground-squat-things, then rest for 10 seconds. By the second one, I was dying. I couldn't keep going. I squinched my eyes shut and prayed for it to be over while desperately throwing my arms in the air, completely out of synch with everyone else, not even bothering to jump by then.
Then we got to the core work. Crunches? No problem. I can do crunches.
Then came planks.
I've seen planks done in plenty of blogs by girls with abs that I will never have, girls who do nothing but work out and make disgusting concoctions involving raw egg yolks and liver and other gross things.
Anyway, the instructor got into the plank position, and I froze. My mind said "YOU CANNOT DO THIS." I said that I didn't physically think I could do it. My body froze. I tried to get my body into position and just... couldn't.
Yes, I cried because I couldn't do a plank. My body literally went NOPE and I said "I can't do this" to the instructor and she said DON'T SAY YOU CAN'T. I was able to do one twice for a few seconds but I lost it at that point, because it looks so easy and my body just wouldn't cooperate, and a huge rush of emotion came out of me.
When I was punching that bag and pretending it was my ex-husband's face and stomach and nether regions, I got SO MAD that I let myself get this far out of shape and fat. For believing that I was as worthless as he told me I was and behaving accordingly, thinking that I didn't deserve to treat my body well. Being fat isn't evil. I will always be a little bit fat, even if I lose 100 more pounds.
But not being able to do what my body should be able to do at 32 years old? That is completely unacceptable to me. My body will not function in a reasonable way that I want it to, and that is not okay with me.
One of the instructors had an ass my size. And she looked like a bad ass and I thought she looked AWESOME. And she was able to do EVERY SINGLE THING in that class. That's what I want. Forget the number on the scale, forget the pant size, I want to kick ass and take names. I want to be tough again.
Speaking of the scale, it was up this morning. I am incredibly frustrated. After I weigh in for the end of my current DietBet and the beginning of a new one, I am giving the scale to my boyfriend and telling him to hide it and not let me have it back until June 14th.
And I am going back to kickboxing next week. Even though my right knee is killing me and I am so tired today, I am going back. Because 9 women saw me lose my shit last night, and I am going to get through an entire class if it kills me. Which it very well may.