"New year, new body! Come on, people, let's MOVE!!!"
I have a love/hate relationship with Turbo Kick. MOST of the time, I love it. (I also love this new Subway commercial where people are eating fattening things and their clothes are popping open...back to Turbo Kick, though.) I hate the thought of going. I hate how out of shape I feel when I'm gasping for breath three minutes in. I hate being sore two days later. But I love the rush. The moving. The jumping. (Thanks to my new sports bra.) I HATE the push-ups.
The first time we did them, she called them something different. "Tricep push backs" or something crazy like that. When I realized what they were, I was pissed. "These are PUSH-UPS!!!" Tonight, we did push-ups. I struggled, of course, on my knees, face inches from the floor, arms trembling from trying to push up my Fat Lady body.
"New year, new body!"
Ironically, we were rocking out to Pink's So What...which was exactly what was going through my head.
So what? I'm not a rock star.
I don't have rock moves.
And I don't need to be thin.
And guess what? I'm not havin' fun.
Are we almost done?
I'm gonna fall on my face...
I'm not alright.
And I'm not fine.
And I'm a tool.
So what? I'm not a rock star...
And as I'm collapsing to the floor and shoving myself up, praying no one can hear me sobbing, I start thinking, is it worth it? I know it is. I know it is. I know it is. But it's SO HARD.
Sometimes, I think it would just be so much easier to be...a Fat Lady.
New year. New body. New me.