Arms? What arms?
I have a pretty routine gym schedule. Some of it is out of loyalty, because I’m one of the few who take a certain class, or out of love, because it’s an awesome class, or both.
Typically on Sundays, I go for a long run.
On Mondays, I go to the gym twice. In the morning, I take a class called Bodiography, which is what I describe as Pilates on speed. It’s choreographed and instructed by a professional ballet dancer and it hits each part of the body using stretch bands, a yoga ball and some dumbbells. It is deceivingly difficult.
In the afternoon, I go to an ab and lower body class which can be either tolerable or annoyingly difficult.
On Tuesdays, I spin in the evening.
On Wednesdays, I do Body Flow, which is a yoga/tai chi/Pilates combination class.
On Thursdays, I spin in the morning.
On Fridays, I do Body Flow again.
By Friday night, my legs are feeling as if I beat them with a baseball bat – and I love it.
But what about those arms?
Yesterday, Mae wasn’t napping very well, so I didn’t know if she’d last through my class from 6-7, so instead, I took an earlier class, Body Pump. I’ve done Pump once before and remembered I hated myself the next day. But that was years ago, surely I’m in way better shape now.
So I went. I worked it. I … holy crap my arms are going to fall off.
When class was done, I felt great. I just couldn’t lift my arms above my head. And carrying Maelie out to the car was funny, to say the least.
The kids made fun of me for moaning and groaning. They mocked me and imitated me.
“My name is Mommy and my arms hurt!”
“Mommy looks like a gorilla walking around!”
“Hey Mom. Can you lift your arms like me?”
“Mama is a monkey. Oo oo ah ah!”
Laying on the couch later that night, I tried to play Words with Friends, but my iPhone was too heavy.
Opening the jar of bruschetta was painful. And forget asking me to open the bag of pita chips. (That’s what husbands are for, right?)
However, this morning, I was doing pretty good. I’m not sore per se, rather I can feel every muscle in my arms and shoulders, and I can feel them stretching with every movement.
My legs are just fine. In fact, next time I take the class, I’ll go heavier on the legs. But the arms? Wow.
So. I learned something new about myself. Having skinny arms doesn’t mean I’m strong by any means. There were women in that class going way heavier than me and didn’t have sculpted arms. But they could kick my ass if given the opportunity.
So I think I’m going to try to stick with it and mix it in with the other class I adore. Not to mention that the time worked out way better for me.
Because, as we all know, I hate sucking at something. There are things I can respect that I suck at, and then there are things that I know I don’t have to suck at. I don’t accept this.
Maybe I should do Rex Kwan Do. Anyone? Anyone?