Death Wish

A whim?  A dare?  A challenge?  I don’t know.  Maybe a little bit of each, and then some.
Usually my posts are about my kids, but I have to break the cycle and write about the newest happenings in my very own life.  Yeah, me.  Not me the mom.  Or me the wife.  Just me.
This is all Carl’s fault, so if he’s ever reading this, he needs to know that he’s created a monster (albeit an out-of-shape, struggling-to-keep-up monster).  It is a monster that is getting stronger by the day, and I am so excited.  I never thought I would spend the first portion of my life so out of shape, but now I am determined to spend the rest of it getting into better and better shape.  I cannot believe the difference that a mere week has made—both in my physical and mental makeup.
Here’s the deal.  CrossFit.  Where do I even start?  You may recall a few posts back when I explained in gory detail the brutal workout my daughter did with her team at CrossFit.  As it turns out, this was the turning point.  (Darn those fit people for being so nice to me!)
I blogged about needing my inhaler just to watch them do the torturous workout they were doing.  I think I mentioned something about my lungs collapsing at the mere thought of trying to do what they were doing.  And yeah, that’s probably still true…for now.  BUT…
(And that’s a big ‘but’)
…I took the leap.  When Carl first told me I could do this, I wondered to myself if maybe we had missed a trampoline payment or two and maybe he was trying to off me.  I was a little worried, but I talked to “J”—the guy with the funny shoes (I gotta get me some of those!), and he, too, reassured me that I could do it.  I got the talk about all fitness levels and scaling workouts to my level and maybe something about using defibrillators if my heart stopped.  I dunno.
Anyway, I was convinced.  And you know what?  The first day was:
Torture.  Pure, unadulterated torture.
Let me rephrase.  The first day was the most brutal, gut-wrenching workout I have ever survived.  Survival—that is the key.  Here’s sort of what we did, although by the end of the workout, I’m pretty sure I was in some sort of sweat-induced coma, so it could be skewed:
5 gazillion squats.  I was told these will become my new best friend. (Whether I like it or not.)
1 million push-ups.  These are not my friend.  Yet.
20 million box jumps.  For me, these were crawl-on-the-big-box-any-way-you-can exercises.
Some other stuff in between.
A little bit of stretching.
And a whole lot of feeling like I might barf all over their pretty, squishy floor.
It was the BEST. WORKOUT. EVER.  I have never in my life felt so happy about not being able to feel anything below my waist.  I did have a little trouble holding on to the steering wheel when I left, as my arms were functioning about as well as tree trunks made of Jell-o.
I’m still in awe of those big boxes that people jump on though.  The tall one comes up to my waist, and unless there is literally a fire under my butt, I’m pretty sure I’m not getting on it.  Especially by jumping.  Maybe with a ladder.  (If I ever jump on one of those, someone remind me about this post when I thought I couldn’t even climb onto one.)
And I’m still pretty positive that I sprained my butt, although Micaela tells me that’s impossible.  She just said, “Oh, Mom, that’s your hamstring” and had me do some sort of human-pretzel stretch in the middle of our living room.  (It DID make my butt feel better, but I’m not telling her that.)
I have finished my five foundations classes, and now I’m off and running.  (Well, not running, per se…but you get my point.)
After only one week with CrossFit, here’s what I’ve learned:
  • I need better bras.  The girls need to be tamed and kept under control.
  • Pain is good.  As the soreness from the previous workout starts to wear off, I find myself looking forward to the next one.
  • I didn’t sprain my butt.  I DID, however, work muscles in my butt that I didn’t even know existed.
  • “Those People”  (the fitness-crazed CrossFitters) are really nice.  And encouraging!
  • Donuts aren’t worth it.  All that hard work and making my body feel better just makes me want to do more and more positive things.  (Marking donuts off my food pyramid is one of them.)
And finally, the most important thing I learned:
I have to go back!  Seriously, you guys.  This stuff is freakishly addictive. 

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