You Can’t Be A Weak-Willed, Self-Indulgent Slacker in Body Blast Class
I’ve dropped a few pounds and have been working out harder. Minor changes are happening that I’m starting to see in the mirror. Some jeans button and my shirts aren’t straining as much to hide the tire around my middle. My upper arms have a little muscle tone, and my legs look no-shit stronger. (Not skinnier, mind you. My thighs have always been thick and probably will always be thick, so I’ll accept “stronger.”) My stomach is still poochy, but I don’t think anything less than a tummy tuck will fix that.
My goal is to widdle myself into a smaller size and sit without my pants cutting off my circulation and triggering gangrene. I’m not there yet - I know this because I regularly and obsessively try on all my too-small clothes - but things seem to be going in the right direction.
God Bless my friend Peggy Hilbert. (If you missed my last post about Peggy and her I’m-going-to-try-to-kill-you Body Blast class, you can read it here.) I hereby pledge my undying loyalty to Peggy for getting me off my ever-widening ass and motivating me to hurl my sweating body around the gym a few times a week while gasping for air and using her Devices-of-Torture.
I’m one of those back-row girls in exercise class. I like a spot where no one can see my ass and where I won’t catch a glimpse of my dorky movements in the mirror. We were to partner up on Monday during the last five minutes of class. I’m not a fan of partner exercises. My independent side wants to do my own thing without the burden of someone seeing me slacking and not being able to keep up.
My partner and I were having a nice little chit-chat about our weekends and supposedly not paying attention, so Peggy made us move to the front of the room for the rest of the exercises. It’s a lot of tough love with Peggy Hilbert. But don’t let that sway you from trying her classes. They are HARD but so much fun and the camaraderie is priceless. We are all friends in that room, laughing and supporting each other during our one hour of suffering, and when class is over, we all leave feeling like a bunch of bad-ass Wonder Women because WE DID IT!
That is just a long way of saying I’ve been feeling good about these small changes - the exercise, being more mindful of what I put in my mouth, and making new friends. I’m happy with the small progress I’ve made. I know it isn’t on the scale of curing a rare disease or running a marathon, but I’m just…I don’t know…proud. It’s a neverending struggle to maintain willpower and not eat an entire box of donuts, and I always thought of myself as a weak-willed, self-indulgent slacker. But right now, I feel like, Hey, I can keep this up with a little help from my friends.
Don’t let that sweet smile fool you. She’ll whip you into shape…and you better not talk during class! Har har har!
Pre-workout Devices-Of-Torture. You have no idea how much I hate that blue half ball thing. The only thing I hate more is not pictured - that f*cking slam ball.