Well, that was uncomfortable. I got up bright and early to go to the Jesus Gym this morning to try to catch her before the class began. I've come to know her over the past few months as I walked to train for the half. Perhaps know is a stretch, but we chatted back and forth early each Saturday morning. She came in early to get in a run before her boxing students arrived. My treadmill, the one on the end, always allowed a view of her classes while I was logging hours and miles.
So this morning, as she was getting off the treadmill after her run, I asked her if it would be possible for me to join her boxing class today. I said that I hadn't been able to get by the gym during staffed hours to sign up and pay (it's $15 per session - less if you buy a group of six), but that I would like to join the class. She stuttered and stammered and finally said that it would work best if we did an individual evaluation (free) before joining the class, that she needed to see "where I was".
So next Friday morning at 5:30 am, I'll meet her up at the gym to see "where I am".
Where I am is an old, but fitter-than-I-look woman who has the stamina to last through the damn class. Where I am is a woman who has adopted fitness as an integral part of my life - maybe not the kind of hardbody fitness that she's used to - and she's young enough to be my kiddo - let's see her at 48. Where I am is a woman who is willing to modify any class to fit MY fitness needs. I'm not there for a grade, I'm there for me. Where I am is the non-athlete who is looking for another interesting challenge to keep the boredom of dreadmilling at bay. Where I am is fucking pissed off. Oh sweetie baby honey darlin', I've had nearly fifty years to practice the petty and I'm good at it. Don't tell me I can't. Jesus Christ on a pogo stick - it's not like this is Angelo Dundee's fucking gym. I'm not asking to be on the Olympic Boxing team. Pissssssedddddd.
Take good care of yourself. Be kind to others. Even if you want to punch them in the nose.