Why? Because SuperAthlete J and I had finally finished our 16-week weight training course, and decided to take a week off weights before starting a new one (more on this in an upcoming post). It was also a relatively slow week for running ... I didn't have anything specific I wanted to achieve and SAJ needed only to do a 4-mile run with 4 20-second sprints in the middle of it.
Wanting to mix things up a bit, I thought, "I know! I'll take a break and do classes at the gym for my workouts this week, it will be so much fun!"
Fun, yes. Surprisingly painful? Also yes. A good reminder that one kind of fitness does not automatically translate to other kinds of fitness? Bingo.
So, here's how my week shook out:
On Monday, I took a kickboxing class followed by a 25-minute core conditioning class offered by the same instructor. This man is known as one of the most hardcore trainers at my gym and he definitely lived up to his reputation. While I was able to keep up with the class and didn't have to do anything embarrassing like lay down on the floor to recover and catch my breath, it was one of the hardest workouts I've been through in a while. But did I love it? Yes, I did. Punching and kicking the big squishy cylinder was a lot of fun and I felt like I was working my body in a whole new way. Plus, I got to practice my pathetic jumprope skills -- as well as my tolerance for looking like a total fool in public. A win-win, wouldn't you say?
The core conditioning class felt much easier by comparison, although the instructor did correct my form several times -- and when I implemented his advice, the movements were significantly more difficult. My ab workouts have become a little stagnant lately, so I was really glad to get some new moves and pointers on how to do them for maximum effect. I left the gym feeling totally jelly-legged but invigorated.
Until the next day, when my inner thighs were so sore that I couldn't really cross my legs. Looking at the bright side, I chose to feel grateful that I'd had a chance to work some muscles that I'm apparently not using much in my regular routine. Little did I know that I was being a small glimpse of things to come ...
Fast forward to Wednesday. (On Tuesday, I just got on the elliptical trainer for an hour -- I couldn't find a class during the time I was able to work out.) On Wednesday, I took a rest day. I never take rest days in the middle of the week. Saturday is my rest day and I love it like that. But I was so sore from Monday's kickboxing that I couldn't face the idea of exercise. I actually got in my car, drove to the gym, then drove back home without working out. I've never done that before. But things got even worse as the week progressed.
On Thursday, I ran with SAJ despite still feeling very creaky from kickboxing. (Yes, a full three days later. Shows you how unprepared I was for the intensity of that class.) Later on, I took a short abs class, followed by an "NRG Bar" session. "NRG Bar" is like a hybrid of weights and step aerobics. There's lots of high-rep/low-weight stuff and jumping around/over the big plastic step. The instructor was super nice, encouraging and hugely entertaining to watch, so I had a great time. But, just like before, I came into the class full of cocky attitude. I just finished 16 weeks of weight training at ever-escalating levels of difficulty!, I said to my cocky self. This will be easy as pie!
Wrong. Because I stubbornly refused to swap the heavier weights I'd brashly selected at the start of class for something more light and manageable, I had to stop and take a few breathing breaks here and there. I also occasionally went at half-time while everyone else was full steam ahead. This class was definitely another dose of "my kind of fitness doesn't translate to all kinds of fitness" reality -- but it was nothing compared to what Friday had in store for me ...
Zumba class. Here's how cocky I was about this one: I was going to take a 5-mile run before the class even started because I was so sure it would be a walk in the park and I didn't want to feel like I hadn't worked out that day. Oh my lord, how wrong can one woman be? Zumba kicked my ass. Kicked it, then stomped on it, then walked away laughing as a matter of fact.
What is Zumba, you ask? Here's what the official Zumba® website has to say:
The Zumba® program fuses hypnotic Latin rhythms and easy-to-follow moves to create a one-of-a-kind fitness program that will blow you away.
Sounds relatively mellow, wouldn't you say? (Here's a link if you want to look into it further: http://www.zumba.com/us/) My impression of the class was reinforced by the people I'd seen taking it ... mostly middle-aged or older women, not too fit, generally a bit plump. You know, Jazzercise ladies. (I know I'm being horribly judgmental right now.) The final nail in the coffin of my complete misunderstanding of the class? The fact that a friend of mine, who admittedly hates to exercise and drags herself to the gym once or at best twice per week where she doesn't appear to ever break a sweat, had taken it and pronounced it "hard." Not "insanely hard" or "you will want to pass out because you're working so hard, hard" -- just "hard." Well, I snidely told myself, if that's how she feels about it, I will be totally fine. In fact, I'd better take a run before class just to make sure I get a good workout.
HA HA HA HA HA, the joke was so on me. You know that part in the preceding paragraph where I mentioned passing out? I literally felt like that. I'd come into the class with my primary worry being about not looking stupid while attempting the dance moves -- coordination is not my strong point -- and ended with it being about staying conscious until the class was over. In short, it was a great, GREAT, hard workout, awesome for the core and legs, and I gained a whole new respect for it, along with the Jazzercise ladies who take it. (A side note: not only did my exercise-hating friend join me for the class -- and come away much less winded than me -- we were joined by our two daughters, who suffered through the majority of the class, dying of teenage embarrassment, before slinking away to sit on the couch until it was over.)
Was I glad I didn't take a run before the class? Yes I was.
Even after my humiliation at the hands of Zumba, my week was not over. I still had one final humbling experience to suffer through -- and it wasn't even a class.
Saturday was a day that kind of slipped away from me, but in the best way. My youngest daughter and I spent the morning and afternoon biking around our neighborhood, stopping here and there and enjoying ourselves in the sunshine. When we got back home, I didn't have enough time for a trip to the gym -- but I still wanted to work out. My sweet and helpful husband suggested that I do walking lunges around our block and I thought, That's a great idea!
Can you see where this is going?
Our "block" is actually a few blocks crammed into one: at one end is 70th Street, and at the other is 73rd. So it's a long stretch from end to end. (I'm laying the groundwork to make excuses here.) I set out from our house, lunging away. And I did make it to the end of the block. But there was ABSOLUTELY NO WAY for me to lunge any further. My legs felt like jello. So, dipping into my past bootcamp class experiences, I did sideways gallops along the short end of the block. When I got to the corner, I did walking squats up the other long side. Then more sideways gallops to the third corner -- and walking lunges back to our house, which I barely managed to squeak out.
I should have known how much trouble I was in when I went up our front steps. I honestly wasn't sure if my legs would support me, that's how loose and trembly they were. But I was in a hurry and didn't take in the dire portent of what my gams were telling me. I was on my feet a lot that evening and they continued to feel weak. They were a little sore the next day when I treated myself to a rest day (my second for the week!) because it was Mother's Day. Plus, in the back of my mind, I wasn't sure how well I'd do on a workout.
And then came Monday. I can honestly say my legs have never been more sore in my life. "Sore" isn't even the word to describe what I felt, in fact. I was in literal pain every time I had to move around on my feet. Sitting down, getting up and going down stairs were the worst. I had to shift the majority of my weight to my arms to be able to do it, so stuff like going to the bathroom was a lot of fun. I felt like such an old lady, I can't even tell you.
I forced myself to work out, thinking it might loosen my legs up. Along with the first day of my and SAJ's new weight training program, I ran three miles on the treadmill and went back for a second dose of the kickboxing/core conditioning class. (I was feeling guilty about my two rest days the week before.) Exercising did help -- while I was doing it and for 5 or so minutes after. Then it was right back to full-on pain. I couldn't wait for the day to end so I could look forward to feeling better the next day but Tuesday wasn't much of an improvement. On Wednesday, I was able to get down stairs without using a hand rail ... but I still had to lead with my right leg every time. Thursday was the first day I could walk down the stairs using both legs like a normal person -- but I still looked gimpy. Today is Friday. Yes, just about a week later. And it is the first day that my legs have felt anything close to normal. Being able to sit on the toilet without gripping the bowl for support on the way down feels like a pretty giant achievement. I've continued to exercise every day -- both to stay on schedule and because I've been hoping it would help move the soreness out of my body -- but it's been hard, to say the least.
And that is the end of my long tale of humbling woe and exercise experimentation. At least it was illuminating for me -- and a good reminder that mixing it up is a good thing, but one that I should be careful with. Or at least not quite so cocky.
So much for an easy week between programs, huh?
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