Does this title make anyone else think of RuPaul?
Before Tim Gunn coined the phrase, “Make it Work,” RuPaul used to sing “You! Better! Work! Work it girl. Do your thing!” Am I aging myself again?
I just started and already I’ve digressed.
Today’s post is going to be all about Fast Feets. I’m aware of the grammatical inconsistencies, but it’s catchy, no?
I’m always rambling on about the Clean Eats, so I think it’s high time we bust into the Fast Feets. Don’t worry (you were concerned, weren’t you), I’m not going to break down every exercise I did in the gym with accompanying weights and reps. That’s not my style, but I do want to get my fitness on.
For those of you who are new to this blog (hey, thanks for stopping by, stick around, say hi), I really like to work out, and I like to work out hard. Really hard.
Oh yeah, I’m one of those. The reason I work out is to make my jiggly bits a little less jiggly and because it’s really good for my mental health. I don’t go to a shrink; I go to the gym, which is substantially cheaper than therapy. Despite being all about unicorns and rainbows, I must have a lot of pent up aggression because when I’m at the gym, it’s balls to the wall the entire time. If I’m not working it, I might as well pack it up and go home.
I’m not one of those pretty girls at the gym either. You know what I mean; the kind who work outs, but still look perfectly polished when they’re done, like they’re ready to go clubbing (do people still say clubbing?). Nope, that’s not me. I’m generally red-faced and sweaty; a hot mess, and not in an attractive way. My hair, what little I have, is sticking up and out in all kinds of wayward directions, and my sports bra is starting to chaff in places you don’t want chaffing. It doesn’t matter; I’m ok with it. In fact, I’m more than ok with it. I like my gym nastiness. It makes me kind of proud. The more I sweat, the more I feel like I worked out hard. Or maybe I just drank a ton of water beforehand.
In any event, I got really dirty, nasty, sweaty on Tuesday. My gym started offering a new lunch time class in January, and I missed it last week because I was feeling a tiny bit under the weather. Well, I checked it out this week and Mama like (am I allowed to use this phrase if I’m not a mama; are there rules to these things?).
Let me set the scene. The class was Mixed Martial Arts (yes, as in the crazy people who fight each other in the middle of the ring and sometimes on the side of the ring and sometimes on the floor) and Bobby was the instructor. This class wasn’t about fighting each other (or else I would have won or maybe just ran away with my tail between my legs because I don’t like actual violence) but more about the endurance training MMA fighters employ.
Bobby (we’re on a first name basis now…or at least I am, not sure about him) sounds like such a nice name, but it wasn’t the case here. He was a big burly dude and former military (I might have made up the last part) so it was no surprise when he started barking out commands for an hour straight: Run, Push Ups, Squats, Lunges, Run, Side Run, Push Ups, Sit Ups, Kicks, Punches, Run, Push Ups, Plank, Run, Run, Run, Run, Run. Move, move, move, move, don’t stop….and here I told you I wasn’t going to go into every detail…oops, I lied.
The short version (too late): it was intense.
The long version (Part Two): he joked about his ability to make people puke. No one hurled, but a lot of people left class early. I was not one of those people though. In fact, I did every exercise he requested with a bounce in my step and glean in my eye. Every time, he called out push ups, I dropped and gave him Boy Push Ups; no more girly push ups for me. While I didn’t keep track of the actual number, I’m pretty sure I blew my previous record away (forty in one day; phew that’s for babies now). There was also a “pretty girl” in the class who was a show off and kept trying to one up me (or maybe she was just really good, and I’m competitive). She was obviously a regular from his other classes, but I kept up (at least in my mind). There was another regular and another pretty girl (where does he find these people?) who kept playing with the radio every five minutes. I think it was a ploy to get out of the exercises, and I’m totally on to her. Or maybe, I’m just competitive. Hmm, the common factor here seems to be me….whatever.
I loved the class, and I can’t wait to do it again, although I did have to soak in a long hot bath twice this week, with some dead sea salts to cure my aching muscles. I wish they’d consider changing the name on this; nobody wants to bath with anything dead, regardless of the amazing health benefits. Sure, they weren’t exactly thinking about marketing when they named the Dead Sea, but c’mon people a little foresight here would have proved invaluable.
In any event, it was a kick ass workout and while Bobby and RuPaul have nothing in common, they both say “You! Better! Work!”
What’s the last workout you did this week (I’m off to another spinning class today)? What’s your favorite type of workout? And why do you actually do it (sanity, jiggly bits, stress relief, weight loss)?