I pulled into the parking lot, and I was scared. Like, my heart was pounding, and I just kept repeating in my head ‘WHY did I do this to myself’, over and over again.
I got out of the car, found my friend, and apparently didn’t say ‘WHY did I do this to myself’ in my head, because she responded, ‘I don’t know, but I’m nervous, too!’
We open the door, walk up the stairs, and into the gym. In front of us is a group of people stretching, men punching bags hanging from the ceiling, women seamlessly throwing medicine balls, and then taking glamour shots, and an empty boxing ring. The Death Ring.
My friend looks at me, while holding her gym bag, and says, ‘Oh this? This is empty. I literally just brought it so I looked like I knew what I was doing’. At that very moment, I realized I was going to have to take some serious mental notes for this ridiculous adventure I got us into, so that I could write some great blog entries.
After having our hands wrapped, this little firecracker of a blond woman comes bouncing over and moves eight freestanding punching bags to the middle of the floor. Then she tells us to start doing some sideways running, around and around the line up of bags. Next, we did long lunges. After attempting to catch our breath, we jumped right into sideways running, going the other direction. My legs felt like they were doing something wrong, and I was tripping over myself. As if my friend knew what I was thinking, she turned to me and said, ‘It’s SO much harder this way!’. Thank god I wasn’t the only one. During our second round of long lunges, we both looked at each other and wondered if this was it. Were we done yet? Was class over? Oh…. it’s not? We haven’t started yet? Cool.
Firecracker spent the next 55 minutes of this hour long class hopping from bag to bag, showing us how to hit, kick, punch, correctly. Our arms hurt, our legs were tired, and I’m 99% sure I shouldn’t be jabbing my toes into the bag when I kick it. I think I’m doing it wrong.
‘I NEED water!’
‘My pants are falling down’
‘I can’t breath!’
‘Fuck you, Franz!’
Those were just a few of the things that we screamed as we sat and murdered our punching bag.
After the 4,827 sit ups, 8,361 push ups, 10,736 punches and countless incorrect kicks, we looked a hot ass mess. Our hands were sopping wet inside the borrowed gym gloves, and we desperately tried to just breath. When we thought we were done being cardio-murdered, Firecracker told us to hop into the Death Ring.
Quick add-in: When told to go take our sweaty gloves off, my friend quickly smelled her hands, and said, ‘OH MY GOD, Don’t smell your hands. They smell so gross’. After saying that, she proceeded to sniff them again. WHYYY??? ‘Why’d you do that??’ I asked with a face of pure disgust and shock on my face. ‘I don’t know!!’ she whimpered.
Also, Firecracker said that swearing is 100% acceptable here.
1. I think I found my true home.
2. She doesn’t know the doors she just opened up for me.
(Ok, back to it. We’re in the ring.)
At first, we thought our boxing dreams were coming true. We were in a ring. We were professional. Time to show off our skills, that we learned 5 minutes ago. But no. While in the ring, we had to pair up, and basically do trust-sit-ups. One person, dangerously dangling over the edge of the ring, while their partner held their feet in place. Oh and we punched at the ropes. We are such bad asses.
At the end of the class, my friend and I looked at each other. Sweat dripping down our faces. Pure exhaustion in our eyes. The feeling of being survivors in our hearts. As if we hadn’t just suffered through sixty minutes of pure hell, my friend turned to me and said something about signing up for MORE classes, when this session was over. And somehow, I summoned the strength to agree with her. 11 more weeks to go.