Tag Archives: working out

A list about Bodypump

1) I walked into the class with a “deer in the headlights” look on my face. A very nice lady got me all set up. The instructor came and introduced herself to me. I asked her if I was going to die. She said no. Then I cried.

2) The only other time I’ve ever cried before a physical test of endurance was at the starting line of the Gate River Run in 2009. I cried for the first 1/2 mile.

3) Both times it was due to anxiety. I knew the task at hand was more than my body was ready for. And I thought I was going to die. Figuratively speaking, of course.

4) In Bodypump you do 1 muscle group for 5 straight minutes. It’s a mix of cardio and weight training.

5) That means I did squats for 5 minutes straight.

6) Which is exactly why I feel every muscle in my legs.

7) The other sets of exercises were: triceps, lunges, back, biceps, and abs.

8 ) But the music was so loud, and the class moved with such rhythm that I barely noticed.

9) The teacher at one point gave me a shout out in the middle of class, it went something like: “You’re doing awesome new girl!”

10) That’s right. I rocked that class.

11) The lady {another instructor} in front of me who walked me through the class told me I was “a natural”. {Take that, lap pool.} She also said that I was going to feel muscles I didn’t know I had.

12) According to one source there are between 656 and 850 muscles in the human body.

13) I can feel approximately 547 of mine.

14) But, aside from all of that, BodyPump rocked my world. I left jubilant. Sore, but jubilant. I’m totally going again.

15) Maybe next time I’ll do more than 1lb weights on each side of the bar! =)

On a side note

I’ve been going to the gym for 1 week now and I can already feel a difference in my body. More importantly, I feel a difference in my persona. Is that the right word? I don’t know. What I’m trying to say is, I’m happier and more talkative and more ALIVE than I’ve been in MONTHS…and that’s a really good thing. My goal here is to take things one step at a time, not over exert myself, and make it to the finish line. This is a marathon, not a sprint. So, that said…I’m going to start a separate blog about this journey because I don’t want to consume this one with workout stories. I need to write myself through this…doe that make sense? It’s going to be a very honest account of what I’m going through, what brought me to this point in the first place, the battles I fight in my head as I go {think “Date with a lap pool”}, and the changes I’m seeing in my day to day life. It will also be light-hearted and fun. BUT! I can’t start it without a name! That’s the only thing holding me back. So, suggestions PLEASE! I want it to be fun/catchy/obviously about a journey to health/balance…..k, ready? Go!

Oh, and because I’ve done practically nothing but talk about the gym this week…here’s a picture of Zoe. She was feeding herself a banana and she misplaced a piece.


And then another one because I just can’t resist.


Happy Friday Ya’ll! What are your plans this weekend?


Gentle Yoga 101

It’s my first day at the gym. Yes, the gym. I told you I suck at being motivated to do the at-home DVD’s and I was right…I haven’t had a date with Tony from Beachbody in a while. And I weighed myself. Yuck. It was the first time I’ve weighed myself since my postpartum appointment with Zoe. ‘Twas not pretty. So, whether we can afford it or not…I am beyond caring. YMCA, here I come.

I drop Zoe off at the {awesome} daycare they provide {hello, reason I chose this gym} and head to the elliptical. I’ve psyched myself up for this. I like working out. Repeat after me, “I like working out”. Yes. I do. I like water. I don’t like Diet Coke. And I like working out. I like to sweat. I want to sweat. Sweat…sweat means you’re working out. Sweat! {Um, I abhor sweat. My sport in high school was the swim team…because you don’t know you’re sweating in the water.} I do 15 minutes and I am sweating like a man. Like a large, hairy-chested man. No worries though, because my bottle of Evian water is sitting right there on the elliptical. Look at me. I’m a fancy gym person. I drink Evian. {Ok, not really. I’m wearing Brad’s t-shirt, yoga pants that are ridiculously stretched out, Brad’s tennis shoes, and my hair is in a knot on the top of my head…and I’m sweating. Profusely. Not to mention the Evian is a fluke, the gas station didn’t have normal water and I hate Dasani. There just really isn’t a whole lot “fancy” about me.} I look at the clock. Yoga is starting in 7ish minutes. Better get on that…

I locate the “Spirit, Mind, Body” studio and am greeted inside by a dark room, about 20 people already on yoga mats, sitting cross-legged with their palms on their knees. I find a yoga mat, I place it in the last available slot at the BACK of the room, sit down, and text Brad. That’s right. I texted Brad from my yoga class while all the “yogi’s” were stretching and/or meditating. Cause I’m cool like that. Actually, what I texted him was, “In a yoga class, pray I don’t die”. He replied, “Don’t overdue it.” I said, “It’s gentle yoga…how bad can it be?” {Ridiculously long pause…nervous laughter on the inside}

A few more people saunter barefoot into the room, one of them is a girl my height {5’11”}, tan, skinny but with all the right curves, and with bleach blonde hair. She is the epitome of the “Florida beach babe”. I name her Perfect Girl. She takes the space directly in front of me. Then a man in very tight bicycle {yoga?} shorts walks in and places his mat in the front. Ah! This must be the teacher. “Gud Mawning” he says from the front of the class as he sits Indian style with one foot touching his belly button. Oh Lord Jesus…this could get interesting. He continues his introduction and I understand nothing that he is saying…and, BONUS, I can barely see him either because I left my glasses in the car. Because I knew I would sweat. Profusely. He has us meditating. Concentrating on breathing. A few opening stretches and I find myself in Downward Facing Dog. My body moves through the yoga positions with some muscle memory…and no grace. “Yez…and now we arrre going to reach to the skyz, and then wez bow forward touching our headz to our kneez”, he says. Hands up, got it, bend over…my body stops when my head/chest is parallel to the ground…there will be no “forehead to the knees” business here today. Yoga chick to my left is literally bent in half. What the crap?!?! And, oh my god, I think my boob just fell out of my bra. Yes is did. Darn you, nursing boobs. We stand back up and I try to nonchalantly jam my boob back in. Classy.

We go back to the Downward Facing Dog. It’s this man’s favorite position. My boob tries to re-emerge and I feel like I have to fart. For real. I begin begging God to please, please, please not let me fart. Oh, Dear Lord…can you even imagine? And then my fears are relieved…because the man to my right definitely just farted. Loudly. Oh Lord Jesus. I start to sweat. Again. We move through stretch after stretch. I eventually stop looking to see what chick to my left is doing because she’s practically perfect at this crap. Lady to my right starts grunting. I’ve been internally grunting for a while. Perfect girl in front of me is hanging in there, but she tweaking as she goes.

He has us up on our knees, arms reaching back. He says, “Good! Zis iz how you do ze backbend! Now, take one hand and put ze hand on your ankle.” Whew, easier than I thought. “Now, switch ze hand”. K, my left side is definitely more tense than my right. “And now we do zis with both hands. We do ze camul.” {I think he said Camel. Pretty sure. If you know the yoga pose I’m talking about and it’s not the Camel then feel free to correct.} My head jerks up to look at the front of the class. He wasn’t joking. Oh, Hell no. The rest of the class goes into a backbend except me and Perfect Girl. Perfect girl puts her hands on her hips and I follow suit. We stop to meditate. I can’t help looking at the clock, wondering if this is a 30 minute class or 1 hour. It’s been 25 minutes so far…I’ve either almost made it, or I just might officially suck at “gentle yoga”. We’re still meditating. I start twitching.

Instructor Dude starts talking about his son. This man talks more than any other yoga instructor that I’ve ever seen before. He starts telling us that he was at his sons school and he was showing them yoga poses and this is what he did. He leans forward from his sitting position, puts his hands on the floor, puts his forehead to his forearms, raises his torso over his hands, his head is almost touching the ground, raises his legs to just above his elbows. I think, “oh..I’ve seen this before. He’s doing that pose where you rest your knees on your elbows.” But, then his legs keep going, with incredible balance he puts his legs straight in the air, then spreads them wide into a split, then straight again, and then finally, stands up. I realize that my jaw is almost touching the ground, and I haven’t taken a breathe during this whole demonstration. Instructor Dude just did a full on hand stand, into an inverted split, back to a hand stand FROM THE SITTING POSITION IN THE MIDDLE OF THE ROOM!!! I begin to applaud. Yep, in the middle of yoga class, I begin to applaud and cheer. One person joins me…out of pity, I’m sure. Then he tells us that it’s our turn. I, respectfully, decline.

A few more cool down exercises, some floor exercises, and a lot more meditating and the class is finally done. It wasn’t 30 minutes, but it wasn’t 1 hour either…and I think it’s called gentle yoga because of how much meditating we did. I have to admit…I was writing my blog post in my head every single time we were supposed to be meditating, and staring at the clock, and thinking about Zoe in the daycare, and watching people outside the window. I sucked at meditating.

Class ended. I picked up Zoe from daycare. We drove directly to Target to buy a sports bra so that maybe, just maybe, my boob won’t fall out of my bra next week when I take that class again. =) Day 1 of the gym. I survived. And, I must admit…it was pretty damn nice to not have a huge dog and a baby underfoot while I worked out.