Ow. Freaking, ow. Seriously.
I’m not sure if it’s because today was my 7th day in a row at the gym (seriously?) or because my abs are still ripped apart from yesterday or because I chose not to eat dinner before the gym but I almost didn’t make it tonight.
Thursdays are all about the treadmill and only the treadmill. Oh, and some handweights (5 pounds in each hand) and that surgical tubing looking band with handles. But mostly the treadmill.
For most of these gals, it was the end of week 5. For me (and 2 others) it was the end of week 3. This was my 17th day, 9th class. I have lost almost 7 pounds. (Although I came home and made the world’s most delicious quesadilla…might have blown it for today but wow, was it good!) Next week marks the mid-point of the class. 6 weeks. This means that everyone gets re-measured and does the fit point test again to check progress.
I am nervous a little. I mean, I haven’t even been at this for a full 4 weeks. How much can change in a month?
For starters, I didn’t die on the treadmill. I was seeing little sparkles when my heart rate got to the upper 170’s. I actually dripped sweat into my eyeballs. So I thought I was dying. But I didn’t.
I asked Molly (after I recovered from my near death experience…we were merely at a 7% incline and just walking) if I would see a change after only 4 weeks. When everyone else has had 6, I want to know what to expect. She said that women typically lose weight from the top down: face, arms, boobs, waist, back, ass, hips and thighs. In that order.
Considering that I don’t really have an ass or hips and I have never taken issue with my thighs, that leaves me only five trouble spots. If that is really the case, I don’t expect to have lost anything measurable. My face looks the same although I do feel more muscular in the back and arms. Abs? What abs? They are still missing. And I will always be Big Boobs McGee. That can’t be helped.
I’m trying to make light of it because I don’t want to be disappointed. I’ve done the work. I’ve lost some weight. I’ve been sore in all the right places. But you have to wonder if it’s enough.
I can see why this is emotional. I’ve been making fun of the Original Fat Camp (see also: The Biggest Loser) for years. Mostly because every one of the participants are reduced to tears at some point. Is there always a reason to be fat? Was it because your father abused you? Depression? Illness or injury? Is it always about genetics? Or…and I think I may be on to something here…is the working out just so soul crushing that all of the nasty shit that happens in your life (everyone’s life, not just the overweight) get squeezed out like sweat into a sock?
You have a lot of time to reflect when all you can do is count the seconds until it’s over. Kind of like being in a dentist’s chair. Nothing but your thoughts. And the pain.
Because this hurts. And it hurts to have to look too far inside. It’s much easier to crack jokes at the world from the safety of your Snuggie and with a cocktail. I’ve been doing it for a while now. I miss it. I want it back. But…there’s another side to me. The side that I keep hidden from the mirror and from this blog and from my kids and from everyone who loves me.
It’s the side that comes out when you think you can’t go on. When you can’t take another step. When you think that your heart is going to explode.
And you take that next step instead of stopping. And you mop up the stinging sweat. And your heart slows down again.
And you realize that you made it. You did it.
You are still alive.