BodyPump: It's Not What You Think. Or, Maybe It Is.

You know your cute, fit friends are tired of your bitching and moaning about your weight and deteriorating health when one of them claims to need a workout buddy to stay motivated and to be accountable for sticking to an exercise plan. C'mon, man. I know YOU don't need ME to keep you accountable! Motivated? Maybe. Because if my spaghetti arms, large ass, and backfat aren't enough to motivate you to not become me, then, hell yeah, I'm motivation personified!

Don't get me wrong, I love my friend. I know her intentions are good. And, it was a pretty nice way of saying "you need to get off your ass" without making me cry. 

But, working out hurts, y'all.

BodyPump is not a creative new kama sutra position. Just so we're clear.

BodyPump is an intense cardio workout with WEIGHTS. 

Me (day before first class): Wait. What did you sign me up for again? Yoga?

Well-intentioned friend: It's just a workout class. Don't worry, it'll be so much fun!

Me: Girl. I just watched a sample video of the class. Are you trying to lure me to my death?!

Well-intentioned friend: Hahaha! Calm down. You'll do great!

I show the video to Hubber who suggested maybe I start with something a little more "entry level." But the level of "entry level" workout classes for people who have zero muscles and lots of extra poundage just don't exist at this particular gym. 

Since Hubber didn't really help to calm my nervous, I cried to my sister about it.

Me: I'm kinda nervous that I'll be the fattest person in the class.

Sis: What? Nah. That's dumb. There are all shapes and sizes of people at the gym.

Me: But, what if I walk in and everyone stares at me? What if they're all skinny and fit and I stroll in like Jaba the Hut?

Sis: Jaba the Hut doesn't stroll. 

Me: How'd you know that?

Sis: Please. I've seen Star Trek!

Me: You mean Star Wars?

Sis: Whatever. You'll be fine. Great, even!

Hubber (overhearing the convo): Wait. Did you just get a Star Wars reference correct?!

So, I psych myself into thinking I just joined the fat girl club and I make my way into the gym... which is in fact full of sporty-fit beautiful people. I haven't felt that out of place since that one time I stumbled upon a nudist colony in Austin. 

And, I WAS the fattest person in class. Thank you very much.

Ten minutes into the class, my heart exploded. 20 minutes later, my legs turned to jelly. It was when my chest froze, and I stopped breathing that I died. Twice. 

How am I even alive? It's a mystery.

What sadist designed a cardio workout class that lasts 60 minutes?

Anyway. It's been 5 weeks and I'm still at it. Unfortunately, I still haven't learned how to "engage my core" - whatever the fuck that means. And, I can't do a proper lunge without tipping over. And, I still do push-ups with my knees on the ground. And, don't even get me started on planks. When the class does planks, my fat ass is flat on the ground taking a nap. Fuck that.

But, on the brighter side.... I haven't given up. And, unlike that Jazzercize stint 15 years ago, I don't drive thru for a Wendy's Frostie after class. Because I am literally DEAD after each class. It's all I can do to slither into my car, drive home, and collapse.