Makin the tears rain down like a MON-soon

Listen to the bass go BOOM

Back in the day, I got really into this kickboxing class. I wasn’t so much into the classes where we did pad work and performed little punching routines, but I LOVED the classes where I just spent an hour beating the crap out of a bag. Yeah, those were punching routines too. But I didn’t have to worry about breaking anyone’s nose.

This was when I weighed my least as an adult. Like, post-college adult. Because now that I’m all old and 35, I’m going to go ahead and call college kids, kids. I weighed 165 and was feeling pretty fucking confident. It was right after my solo hiking trips. After I’d realized I was ready for a husband, not a boyfriend. And right around the time I met said husband. Coincidence? I think not–you feel confident, you get out there, you talk to people. Sometimes to just the right people.

Any hoot. When we saw this 30-minute kickboxing place open up near our house, the hubby and I were pretty excited. He’s ex-Krav Maga guy, so he likes to hit shit too. We decided to try it out.

Here’s how it went for me.

The setup is a 30 minute workout broken down into 9 rounds. Each round is 3 minutes, with 30 seconds of some sort of other activity in between rounds. It’s variety. It keeps you moving. And you get to punch and kick.

It starts with a warm-up: jumping rope. Luckily, I’d  worn my most supportive bra. I start slinging rope, though I haven’t jumped in years. And OMG. There is nothing like watching yourself jump rope in a mirror when EVERYTHING on your body is jiggling. I know, I know. Body positive, accept yourself. But I’m human. And somewhere in there is a shred of pride. That’s not the right word. I’m proud I was doing it. It’s ego. And this was brutal to my ego. But on I jump. And trip. A lot.

The next 8 rounds are a variety of core work and punching. I have no core. I’m pretty sure the kiddo ripped out my stomach muscles while being born. I’m actually like “What’s the alternate activity?” because I CAN’T reverse-bridge and lift up an arm. Let’s be honest, I can’t reverse bridge. It’s a reverse sag. But once again, blow to the pride ego that I have to ask for the baby activity.

This workout is way more intense than my walks around the block. I’m having to “walk it off” quite a bit so I don’t just pass out alongside the heavy bag. Meanwhile the hubby’s all “this one is an easier one.”

But damn.

It felt good to punch. And kick. And just move. My hips were all loosey goosey by the time we walked out. In a good way. Like I freed them from chains.

And to be clear, the only judgement happening in this gym was coming from me. And perhaps my husband who was mainly trying to judge if I was about to die or not. Everyone else working out was busy sweating–there was even another lady as large as me. Everyone who worked there was just supportive and offering the occasional technique tip.

I think this is the kind of exercise that many of us heavier people are scared to jump into. We think, “When I lose 15 pounds, I’ll try it.” “When I can fit into size____, then I can jump up and down.”

But as sore as I am the day after, as embarrassing as it felt at times, it also felt really good to just do it. Even if I sucked at it. Even if I looked weak and uncoordinated. Even if I spent more time catching my breath than actually working out. (OK, it wasn’t quite that bad.)

I still DID IT. I moved. And though I still don’t know everything that the body positive movement is about, I know they believe you shouldn’t hold yourself back, or feel judged, because of your size.

But for me, the real truth is in feeling all the embarrassment and self-conscious bullshit, and doing it anyway. At least that’s where it’s got to start. Because I’m not going to magically grow some confidence testicles. (ok, not testicles) I’m going to earn it by proving to myself that I can try something new, and that it’ll be ok.

Not beautiful, but ok.