Oi...
I'm in pain, Folks. Maybe not the total agonizing blinding kind (yet) but I'm stiff as hell, joints are about to stage a coupe. Every muscle is aching, every joint is creaking. Do I have the flu? Nyet.
Last night I partook in my first ever yoga class.
Now I don't know about the rest of you, but for the likes of me I always figured yoga would be a bunch of positions with meditating as a side course. I had no clue it would even generate a sweat and most certainly that I would stretch muscles within my body that frankly I didn't know I had. By the time it was done, I was just relieved that I lasted.
P was the one who had the brilliant idea to hire a friend of ours who is a yoga instructor. She's a sweet thing with such a pretty face that you sorta can't help but stare and an absolute killer body with tat sleeves. She had offered in the past to give classes in exchange for some Indian classical dance moves but the girl needs money more than moves so we decided to gather together more friends and hold a session in our basement.
As we were getting ready, P exclaimed out loud that 'yoga is for girls'. The females in that room turned and glared at him, asking him what precisely meant. He was smart enough to shut his trap and not elaborate. And his smug ass learned the lesson well enough when afterwards he collapsed onto the floor panting and groaning as well as declaring in a significantly weak voice, "well hell, men don't do yoga because it's hard as hell and we don't bend that way!" Yea, that's right, you best recognize, Fool!
Oh boy but he wasn't lying either. It is hard as all get out. I'm sitting here at work with random parts of my body crying out against the abuse. I'm also disabused of a theory I held for a long time: I'm brown so yoga will be a snap. I shoulda have had my head checked just for thinking that nonsense. Or, my brown club card needs to be ripped out of my turmeric stained fingers.
Adding total insult to injury (my body is roundly already cursing me for this) tomorrow I'm taking a Bollywood Zumba class. Not just that but my yoga instructor (and friend) is going with me because she rarely gets a chance to take classes as she says. -_- Now I have to go to this thing with her and have a workout queen next to me beating me at my own dance type? Seems super unfair.
To take it one step further and really screw my self over? I'm even figuring that I may actually bust out the ShaunT HipHop Ab video that I bought ages ago, finally take the cellophane off and possibly sweat it out on Friday's. That makes it 3 days a week that I'll be working out. KILL ME NOW.
What the hell am I about to do to myself? Oh, I know it's called torture. It ain't just for prisoners of war. Actually I know the accurate description for this behavior but I won't even bother going into it but my friends in the BDSM world knows what it is. And while my workout enthusiast peppy buddies tell me with stomach-turning fervor that this is great, I'll feel awesome, it'll get easier...I simply roll my eyes and mentally tell them to STFU or bitch slap them into an elliptical machine. Frankly, I hate working out with a passion. I've said this before openly, I'll say it again: I hate working out. I hate it. I hate it. I really hate it. No, actually I loathe it. I do it, but I loathe every last second. I get that as one works out with they release endorphins and endorphins make you happy (per Legally Blond), yada, yada, yada. Well it doesn't make me happy, just more energized which in turn makes it harder for me to sleep because I can't turn my darn self off...
I suppose I should be far more PC about this but sorry, I can't be. I absolutely cannot stand those anorexic chicks I see with hair in ponytails, butts encased in ridiculously tight yoga pants, double multicolored tanks that emphasis their big boobs and small waist and a yoga mat under secured snuggly under their irritatingly toned arms, giggling and laughing due to prior mentioned endorphin rush with their counterparts who are the exact copy of themselves. *Puke*
WOAH! The negativity. Do I sound like a hater or what? Okay calm down R, calm it down...
I need to stop. I'm doing this for me. No one is forcing me either and not because the world seems to be full of yoga pant wearing mat heads who are trotting up and down the streets enthusiastically looking for the next rush. I'm doing this because I need this. Just for me.
So a few years ago I hit a wall of 'big'. In fact I was huge, swelling to a size that I think may have been just this side of Nat Geo labeling me as a new species of 'baby elephant'. I wasn't happy, I felt disgusted with my existence and I suffered such a ginormous inferiority complex that it was hard for me to get out of bed. Even hanging out with my friends (who were way thinner than myself) was a pure downer. One day I decided it was time for me to quit wallowing in my own misery and get the hell OUT of bed and do something about this self imposed misery. Having tried so many ways of losing weight in the past which included a myriad of quick fixes, I had to reevaluate what would work for me, not anyone else and follow that.
That led me to embracing calorie counting. Now go on, think what you wish but within a span of a year I lost over 60lbs. I looked good, felt better, had stamina and more importantly I walked around with my head held high. I wasn't avoiding cameras and unlike before, I wouldn't pick someone to hide behind when someone said it was picture time. I was confident that although I wasn't the size 2 that I ultimately I wanted to be, the size I had achieved had been hard fought and a lot smaller than what I had been. It was a total personal win.
I maintained that weight loss for over 2 years, living life seamlessly, cheating when I wanted, never starving myself, working out when I could and I loved that. Then I was laid off from a job I thought I would retire from and it steadily spiraled. Depression did it's awful number on me and what I put in my mouth became inconsequential. To be honest, it wasn't that it was what I was eating, it was when I was eating it. I didn't care at all and that was the problem. I saw the weight slowly come back, my face becoming fuller, more rounded, the double-chin coming back to roost and whereas I've managed to gain back about 25 of those pounds, I find myself yet again dissatisfied.
Now, I'm off again, determined to not only lose weight but more than I did before. Worry not, my goal is doable. I also assure you I will not become an exercising lunatic, I hate it way too much to really morph into one of them anyhow and no, my blog won't become the platform for nonstop conversations about how I'm doing this or that and motivational blah, blah, blah. I will report back on occasion regarding progress, most likely bitch up a storm about how much I hate (did I mention this before?) working out and exercise in general. I'm sure y'all are totally excited about this!
For now? I'm indulging in an orange. -_-
*Sigh*
This totes sucks.
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