fucking ow

So, that was embarrassing. And I guess I should have known better. I re-read the description on the gym's site that said things about "high octane" and "intense" and "this will kill you," but I ignored them. Ha ha, I said. If it gets too rough, I will just march in place step two three four.

Step two three four.

I talked to my friend H. before I headed over to the gym. I told her I was nervous about the class. She said "Don't be! You'll be great! And you know, you can leave if you have to." I said "ha ha. The warm up will probably kill me! I'll leave fifteen minutes after the class starts!"

Step, two, three four. I made it through about seven minutes before I left.

Just in case the class would be packed, and all excited about going, I got there fifteen minutes early and felt good in my nice workout pants and my cute robot shirt. I walked around the room, and I imagined punching things and I felt good. And then the little tiny undergrads started sylphing through the door in pairs, wearing their sports bras and yoga shorts and I wanted to die a little bit, but I didn't. I stood in the corner and looked off into the air and tried to pretend I was thinking deep thoughts that didn't involve cake.

And then the instructor came in and she was a good quarter of my size, and she started shrieking and the music came on it and it was deep knee bends and jumping jacks and more deep knee bends and dropping from a bend into ten push ups and then back up to jumping jacks and jab jab jab and kick kick kick and I tried so hard to keep up and not look at myself in the mirror and do the best I could but I started to pant and then I started to wheeze and then I started to not be able to breathe at all and everything hurt and I tried to lift my knee to kick and then realized I couldn't and I was falling out of step with everyone and I stopped and I looked at myself in the mirror and I turned and walked out while everyone was doing lunges and I pretended I didn't care that they were watching me go and I tried to not think about what it was they could have been thinking as the fat girl clears out seven minutes into class.

I thought I was fine. It's kind of funny, how I didn't last. Boy, was that class crazy! And where was the kickboxing, I ask you? That sure wasn't kickboxing! Ha, ha. Ha. And then I got home and Guy came over and asked me how the class went and I burst into tears.

You know, I know I'm fat. That right now, I weigh more than I ever have. And I don't formally exercise. But jesus, I did not know I was so desperately out of shape. I walk. I'm not immobile. I am fairly agile, I take the stairs, I am a wildcat in bed. I would have thought that this class would have hurt, but I didn't realize it would have torn me down so completely, and left me feeling so humiliated and pathetic – not just because it was so difficult, but because it was this spectacular failure to do something normal girls could do.

And because it was such a public spectacular failure. When I don't fit into my clothes at home, or I try something on in a department store, or I eat something I shouldn't, it is a private and personal disappointment, screw-up, defeat. Whether it is true or not – those deep-bending, push upping girls might have been so deeply immersed in their sweating they never noticed me in the back row, when I was there or when I was going – it felt like I was opening myself up to every kind of public humiliation you spend your whole life trying to hide from, when you're fat, in all kinds of ingenious ways that become second nature.

That took some getting over – it's been a long time since I took a risk like letting myself look like a giant fat asshole in an exercise class. And after I calmed down and the first blush of shame faded, I started to feel less pathetic, wretched and horrible, and a little more proud of myself. I went to this class that I knew was going to be hard and full of skinny girls, and I did my best. I pushed to failure, and I failed, and that's the end of it. I did good (and three days later, it still fucking hurts. I almost cried going down the stairs this morning).

And while I have vengefully crossed out all the cardio kickboxing classes on the gym schedule I have printed out (along with all of the instructor's other classes, in a fit of impotent rage and snittiness), I have not crumpled the thing up into a ball and chucked it. I am going to try water aerobics (shallow, easy pace), and maybe beginning yoga, and maybe tai-chi, and when I have lost some more weight and feel more confident, when I am stronger and fitter – I sure as fuck won't go back to the cardio kick class.

This entry was posted by anne, on Friday, June 24, 2005. You can leave your response.