…that Body Blast was simply an amuse bouche…it seems the real action goes on in Fat Furnace. Which is where I found myself at 06h30 yesterday morning. There’s definitely an air of expectation from God of Pain that you’ll pull yourself back from the brink, and be ready to go again at your first opportunity. He looks like the kind of bloke who chews sore muscles up for breakfast and I’m acutely aware that he’s still sussing me out, so I thought I’d better show willing. I’d like to get at least a week under my belt before he writes me off as a wimp.
Strangely, when I woke up yesterday, I didn’t hurt as much as I thought I might. Charlie dog looked on with interest as I limped around the bedroom trying to find a second exercise outfit, and he only learned one new word when I pressed on my knees to see if they still hurt. (FYI, they did.)
God of Pain had asked me to get there ten minutes early for the morning session, so he could walk me through what was what. I’ve got to be honest, once I clocked the way he’d set the room out all I wanted to do was go back to bed. For the rest of my life. I’ve never actually seen a kettle bell in real life but I know they regularly make people cry on Biggest Loser, so seeing them dotted liberally around the room didn’t exactly give me a warm fuzzy feeling, you know?
In Body Blast I’d had my own little corner of the room, with my own mat so I could quietly get on with the business of hurting. Fat Furnace is basically circuit training in disguise, with the whole class working their way around a series of torture stations. Given that I’m a newbie and he’s breaking me in gently (yeh what fucking ever) some of the harder stuff was reserved for the proper people.
It was more of the same from the night before, just harder. Much harder. Lots of jogging on the spot, lots of getting up and getting down again to do more stuff that hurt, and those kettle bells lived right up to their advance publicity. He gave me the baby size which were still heavier than a fully loaded suitcase and my arms were expected to swing them all over the place whilst my legs burned in a squat position…a double helping of hell, especially since those legs had jogged, lunged, squatted and hoiked this fat old body off the floor more times than I can even count in the last 24 hours.
At one point, God of Pain (who was quietly following me around to make sure that I was hurting enough) (without hurting myself, if you know what I mean) leaned in as he surveyed the room and whispered I run a tight ship…I’m not sure he meant it to sound like a threat but it definitely dissuaded the asshole voice from even trying to suggest it was time to go home and have a lie down with a cup of tea and a ginger nut.
I’ve got to be honest…doing all this in front of a wall of mirrors, is a torture all of its own. Being confronted with the reality of watching my whole body quiver as my arms valiantly tried to raise what felt like a ton weight up and away from my body, whilst my legs wobbled and my face got redder and redder was not attractive. My hair was dripping wet and my bingo wings were flapping around underneath the short sleeves that I rarely wear, with a momentum all of their own.
The very last torture station saw me rolling an exercise ball down the wall behind my back to a sitting position without a chair, on legs that wondered just what the fuck was going on…yes, those same legs that had jogged, lunged, squatted and hoiked this fat old body off the floor more times than I can even count in the last 24 hours. I swear I could almost hear them screaming we don’t do this!! This body doesn’t do this!!! Bring back our old life, bitch!!!
We had to go round twice. Not three times. I could have kissed the feet of the lady who told me that after the second klaxon sounded we’d actually finished finished. And you know what, for the second time in two days, I survived.
It was interesting, you have an opportunity to feed back on your training session when you get your summary afterwards on email…I was going to suggest Barry Manilow, mood lighting and scatter cushions for the next session, but I have a feeling that the God of Pain would disapprove…
AWESOME! I’m so proud of you!
Thanks 🙂
My non-sequitur brain popped this up (think of a toaster!)
Last time I took a CPR refresher, the adorable fireman who was our instructor told us the best rythm for doing chest compressions was “Stayin’ Alive” by the Bee Gees. LOL…
Haha yes I’d heard that too! Let’s hope that nugget of info has made it as far as God of Pain, right? Just in case!
Heeheehee! Suggest the Manilow just to see if he changes his expression, that’s what i’d want to do. You survived, and over the next weeks under his training, you will thrive.
He’s a bit serious Mimi…my chuckle muscle is the only one in my body which gets a regular workout but the two times I tried to crack a joke I just got the stare!! 🙂
AAAAAWWWWEEEESSSOOOOMMMEEEEEEE!!!!!!!! 🙂
i almost wet my pants reading. hell you re funny! 😉
I find that Tena lady are quite good…being a lady of a certain age I know stuff like that ?
I just love your way with words just like the others said yesterday you make me laugh right out loud in a good way of course. How well remember going through this stuff with my own version of “The God Of Pain”
On a serious note look at you! Wow! You go girl! Look at what your body can accomplish and all that it can do when you push it to do it!
Going forward you have to think that you are a athlete in training seriously yes you read that right ” a athlete in training”.
Thinking like a athlete will change your attitude toward exercise and a lot of other things.
Keep up the great work and thanks for sharing your journey with all of us.
Thanks Susan! I think it was the Nike bloke who once said if you have a body, you’re an athlete…hmm! I’m less scared than I was, now it’s fear of the known rather than the unknown!!