I don’t mind admitting that I’m a full-bodied wuss…pain is something I avoid like plague. Under any circumstances. Do you remember when seemingly all of womankind was banging on about the Fifty Shades of Grey books..? I took one look at the concept and thought nah, not for me. Christian Grey would’ve received a swift kick in the clackers if he’d tried to pull any of that shit on me, no matter how well he filled his suit.
So, one of the things I was dreading the most about turbo-charging my fitness regime were the sore muscles that I knew were coming my way. I was probably dreading those more than actually flinging myself about in the first place. In the past, on the odd occasion where I’ve pushed myself physically I’ve been miserable for days afterwards with what felt like toothache in all my limbs.
Having said that, I’ve not really ever done anything like this before, under the supervision of someone who actually knows what they’re doing. The only guidance I can ever remember being given were the warp speed inductions at whatever gym I’d ventured into, usually delivered by a spotty teenager with a whistle around his neck who I never saw again, unless it was at a distance as he closely supervised a skinny string bean with buns of steel at the other side of the gym.
On Friday, with two classes under my belt, I was sore. I wasn’t as sore on Thursday morning as I’d been expecting, other than my bruised knees of course, but the second session was much harder and on Friday, everything ached. I had a long hard day at work, travelling to London and back with a fair bit of walking throughout the day. The first hurdle was actually getting on the train in the first place, I mean that’s a big-assed step up when your legs feel like lead. And pulling myself up on the door wasn’t really an option since my arms also felt like lead.
My arms hurt the most, I think. They’ve led a very sedentary life for ever and I’m acutely aware that I have no upper-body strength at all. Press-ups, even from my knees, not to mention planking and those dratted kettle bells had come as a shock, I’m not going to lie. I bought a coffee at the station before we set off and I’m only exaggerating a tiny bit when I say I looked at it on the table in front of me on the train and wondered whether I could get away with putting my head down and slurping it without actually picking up the cup.
At one point I sneezed, and without warning a really loud AHHHH shot out of my mouth immediately afterwards as my stomach muscles screamed in protest at the sudden need to tighten. You don’t even want to know how many heads whipped around in the carriage to see what on earth was going on, it must’ve sounded like someone was trying to murder me.
So, it hurt. But I couldn’t help thinking, that nine months ago the same schedule with trains and walking and stuff would have been equally torturous just for different reasons. At way over three hundred pounds, everything hurt. After just a few minutes of walking, my lower back used to hurt way more than any achy muscles I’ve experienced this week.
I actually used to worry that my spine was going to give way under the sheer weight of my torso, and quite apart from that, my feet and ankles would swell horribly, not to mention my left knee burning like there was a red hot poker through the middle of it. I could never get comfortable on the train, and if someone came and sat beside me I’d be so paranoid about how much space I was taking up I’d hold myself stiff and try really hard not to spill into their space.
Blimey. The weirdest thing just happened…I found myself getting a bit teary when I thought about how I used to feel. I’ve come such a long way since then. I mean, I know I’ve got a long way to go still, but genuinely, being fat doesn’t occupy my every waking thought any more. I am still fat, there’s no getting away from that. But it’s no longer the kind of fat which means I can’t do things that normal people do. And it’s only when I shine a light on the way I used to feel that I remember exactly what it was like. It was awful.
So this week I’ve felt the kind of sore that says I’ve worked for it, rather than the kind of sore that invades my body because of the tonnage I’m hauling around.
I’ll take that.
