He looked at me doubtfully, "Let me help you out with that. It's a SPIN class. Not a spinning class. You don't want to embarrass yourself on the first day."
The next morning I woke up at 4:45 to make it to my 6:00 class. In hind sight I ask myself...why?! I had been tossing through a weird Christmas Eve-like sleep pattern. I kept waking up wondering if it was time to go to the gym, but hoping it wasn't.
I heard someone post on facebook one time, "The joys of the gym in January." Meaning, when will all these new year resolutioners get off my elliptical? I just knew everyone would take one look at me and know I was one of those people who hadn't been to the gym in ages. Or years. Or decades. Whatever.
I walked in and was surprised to smell it. It smells exactly how I remember. Exactly! Smoothies, sweat, clean towels and shampoo steam.
Embarrassing private thought: "Where in the heck are the elevators? These stairs are making me winded!"
After wandering around, trying to look busy and getting lost twice because of wall to wall mirror confusion, I finally met my friend. She kindly gave me the lowdown on how to get set up for a spin class.
The perky instructor had kind eyes, THANK GOODNESS. She matter of factly looked me up and down and told me my goal was just to make it to the end of the class. Ouch. But, the truth.
The first work out in over a year is a brick in the throat and fire in the lungs. How can two previously obedient and well functioning organs suddenly turn on me and refuse to give me air?
Gratefully, I have the wisdom of many a first work-out to know that the first day is death and it will get better.
Perky instructor was right. I prayed my way through those 55 minutes. I didn't want to fall of that bike or worse...barf.
I have a lot of wishy- washy wimp feelings about the gym. I doubt my determination to get up early. How I hate any hour before 8 am. I defeat myself before I even get started, sometimes.
I worry the health- nut skinny thigh girls will smell the cookie dough seeping from my pores.
I compare, I compare, I compare.
Here's the deal though: Take care of your body, it's the only place you have to live. Be grateful for the mind-blowing creation it is. Don't curse it for the way it varies from someone else's. Be generous to it.
I love to study old people. Really old people. People who poop in a pan in their beds and have had bed head for years. Do you think they'd turn down my strong body because last year's jeans are too tight? Do you think they'd turn their noses up at riding a wave into shore, or a climb to the summit? Heck, do you think they'd refuse to carry a sleeping baby with my arms because they have a little pudge? Nope, they'd relish five more minutes with a body that could carry them anywhere.
I think it pains God when I spend so much time sad about my body. What a punk I am! Get over it sister! Use it. Use it up. It doesn't look like it did when I was 17, but it is forgiving and eager to improve when I treat it right.
Work it. Enjoy it. Love it.