Not the Village People’s YMCA

I joined the Y. For those of you not in the know, that’s the YMCA. I exercised four days in a row. I can’t move.

It was probably a little overkill to take a pilates class, body sculpting class, kickboxing class, and run a few miles my first week back after many moons of not exercising. I couldn’t help myself. Ryan loves being with kids his age and the Y is a perfect way for him to have an hour-an-a-half playdate every day. I did it for him really. I’m a giver like that. Because in order for him to take advantage of having a playdate, I have to work out. I guess I could sit in the coffee area and drink coffee, but I don’t like coffee and that would be wasting time. So I’m forced to work out.

I used to hate going to classes. I found enjoyment from planning my own workout routines, planning which day I’d work out certain muscles groups and putting together a suh-weet rotation. No more. I walk into a gym of machines and weights and my brain is immediately exhausted. I am now a class girl. No planning, no counting, no thinking. I’ve learned to like the lady who stands at the front of the class with a microphone strapped to her head barking out orders.

One of the things I noticed last week was that I’m just as much out of style at the gym as I am out of it. These Burgh Babes are stylish. Who knew there were so many cute exercise outfits out there. I’m still wearing my brother-in-law’s college shirt, my brother’s little league shirt, and my oversized athletic shirts paired up with mesh basketball shorts. I do have a few pairs of exercise pants that are older than my children which leaves me feeling very self-conscious. During my body sculpting class I kept having the reoccurring thought that I might have a hole in my pants. The thought would creep up every time my legs were spread eagle for some pilates move. I wasn’t sure if it was better to spread in confidence or actually crane my neck into my groin-area to confirm if there was a hole. I went the confidence route figuring everyone else was concentrating on themselves. Which reminds me, I should check those pants before I wear them again.

I felt the best this week while I was running. If I could brag for just a minute I think I’m a beautiful runner. It’s really too bad my high school didn’t have Track and Field. I would’ve had to run the short distances because I’m not a beautiful jogger…. I just kind of jog along, but when I open up into a full run I feel my stride elongate and think I must look like Michael Johnson or Flo Jo, except white.

Kickboxing came in a close second. There’s something about throwing punches that works for me. Not sure why. I’ve never been in a fistfight nor am I a violent person. I don’t even like watching boxing or UFC fights. But I’m ready if I need to defend myself. Jab, Cross, Hook, Uppercut.

I learned a new one this week called “the knife.” You swing your arm over your head and bring it down like you’re shoving a knife into someone. Knee, knee, kick, knife. I was really good at that sequence. Don’t worry though, I’m not gonna go out looking for trouble or anything, but should you ever need a wingman in a bar fight, you know my number. I’ve got your back.