Group Exercise Debacle
I went to my first group-exercise class since my first trimester prenatal yoga when I was pregnant with my second child. So, it’s been over a year since I tried true exercise. I’ve had two c-sections in less than a year and a half, so my physical recovery has been slow.
But I jumped back in. I met a friend for a high-paced yoga/pilates class.
My first problem is that I got there late. So they were already started and I had to grab a mat and jump right in.
Let’s just say that it became obvious within the first two minutes that I was not going to look like I knew what I was doing. I have natural rhythm and musical theatre experience, not to mention I am familiar with yoga, but the minute I stepped on that mat, I knew things had changed.
Everything in my body felt different. Carrying and birthing children will do that to you, I suppose. I felt like I barely knew myself anymore.
After a while, I just became “that girl” in the class. You know the one. I came in late and disturbed the peace. About halfway through the class I just flat out stopped doing some of the moves (I was suddenly painfully aware of my incisions…so I was taking it easy – but no one else knew this!). Then when things started getting quiet, the music lulled, I was trying to play it cool and went for a fancy, toes-pointed move and kicked over my water bottle that sent my pager (for my children in childcare) spinning across the room.
This was all before we started into the balance section. Clearly, I have lost all sense of balance as well. But for the record, no one looks cool doing the ‘star’ move. No one.
I made it through the class. Once I realized that probably no one else was looking at me like I suspected, I just let go and embraced my terrible form and wimpy halfway poses. Because I have to start somewhere, right? That is, after all, why I was in the class anyway. I want to step it up in terms of my exercise, but after two major surgeries and two pregnancies, my body isn’t the same. That doesn’t mean I stop what I’m doing and give up. It means I take it easy and work with what I’ve got. And it also means I need to go back to the class. And back. And back again.
Like every other healthy choice we make in life, exercise takes discipline. There has been no other time that this word has practically screamed at me than when I was staring at myself in the mirror for this hour class, looking like a total flake, and hardly recognizing myself. Keep going, is what I had to tell myself. Keep going.
Plus, the corpse pose at the end of the class makes it all worth it. I have to say I was pretty good at that move.