I've mentioned it here or there, but I just completed week three (of eight) of Body Back. It's a boot camp for moms who, you guessed it, want their body back after all the fun of pregnancy and babies and no longer putting themselves as a first priority. I've been doing Stroller Strides for a little over a year. I'm no athlete (that's for sure), but I think I've come a long way since my first Stroller Strides class. Or, rather, I thought I did -- until Body Back. Oh, Body Back.
See the cute, saccharine little butterfly logo? So precious, so fragile? It lies. Halfway through each class I'm pretty sure I'd rather perform a lobotomy on myself with a pair of rusty scissors than continue any further. Still, in some sick, masochistic way, I must like it because I become a clock checking ball of anxiety convinced my husband will be home late or traffic will interfere and I'll never make it to class on time. (So far the traffic hasn't been so kind. Curse you, Fort Lauderdale rush hour. What are you good for?)
So, here's a rundown of the torture: there are four of us in this class. This is good, because the instructors can really focus on helping each one of us. This is bad, because, well, the instructors can really focus on helping each one of us. Translation: someone is going to notice if you're attempting a nap instead of finishing crunches while holding a deceptively heavy inflatable ball or if you're taking two breaths before climbing back up the picnic table bench. Ahem. Not that I speak from experience or anything.
We also keep a food journal that is checked weekly along with our progress. Everyone is always asking if I notice any difference yet and as of tonight -- the hardest class we've had so far -- I can say yes. Tonight, my Body Back classmate Shameka and I totally ran more than we've ever run before. I mean, wheezing and complaining simultaneously, but we ran more than I knew we were capable of running and it was a little impressive. And then there's the fact that I'm walking through the grocery store and realize my pants are halfway down my butt and the entire pasta aisle has seen my underwear. Our instructor, Silvia, says that's music to her ears. It didn't earn me bonus points and an excuse to sit out one of the forty thousand laps around the ginormous parking lot, but instead I had to sit myself back down on the mat and do nearly puke-inducing crunches. I guess she doesn't like music very much.
In that same, sick way, I look forward to Body Back nights. Not just because my husband gets home early and I get to leave the house by myself and converse with other adults for an hour, but because it's somewhat enjoyable. Or something. There, I said it, Silvia. Go easy on me. (And, you know, if I'm going to be that mom teaching my child about staying active and eating right, it probably would only benefit me for him to know that his mother exercises, too. Hypocrisy has no place in parenthood, right?)
The above photo is of two of my fellow Body Back victims and She Who Inflicts Copious Amounts Of Pain -- also known as Silvia, our instructor. I shouted "pretend to kill Silvia!" as this photo was taken. It's not that convincing because, well, who could have a single shred of energy after the sheer torture of this evening? (But much love to Eneri, Shameka and Silvia for agreeing to be pictured for the blog after an hour of sweat, pain and brutality. You ladies are awesome! Except you, Silvia. You can be awesome again once my legs stop quivering and my arms stop feeling like they're about to fall off.)
Even though I spend each workout silently (or not so silently. I'm a complainer, I admit it) wondering why I've signed up for this torture, I have to say, Body Back kind of rules in it's own weird way. It's crazy how when I'm at my deepest pit of exhaustion, sure that I'm going to throw up or just fall down on the floor in defeat, my mind starts wondering if I can run this far this week, how far can I run next week? Or if I'm still standing right now, what else am I capable of? You know, that's my subtle way of saying I've chosen a new tattoo as my reward based on my nonsensical conclusion that excruciating pain is a decent reward after surviving eight weeks of excruciating pain. I'm losing it. My mental stability and my pants.
I've slacked on doing weekly Body Back updates so far, but I'll do better at keeping this blog up to date with my Body Back progress. Oh, and there will be progress. (I mean, tonight I used the words kettle bell in a sentence and my husband looked like he was about to fall off the couch in sheer shock.)