Pass The Ben Gay, Please

I love fitness classes, or rather, the concept of fitness classes.  The idea of my coming together with like-minded individuals to reap the numerous benefits of physical exercise makes happy with anticipation.  But in every class I’ve ever taken there is inevitably a moment when the blissful unity between body and mind is ripped apart as my body shrieks, “What are you doing to me?!”  

The body mutinied a mere five minutes into the Yogalates class I recently took at the Community Center.  Now, the teacher was great, urging us to go at our own pace and warning us to not do anything that would cause us pain.  But as she asked us to sit up straight with legs crossed and breathe, I was already questioning my sanity at having signed up.  My leg muscles were not happy.  They told me in no uncertain terms that they were not meant to move like that.    

Before you write me off as a simple out-of-shape wimp, let me explain that I’ve taken Yoga before and have done Pilates as well.  Every once in a while, I stretch and walk and I work out on a glider in my home on a somewhat regular, okay, sporadic basis.  But I do exercise.  Plus, I recently lost and have kept off sixty pounds.  I thought Yogalates would be easy. 

It was not.  What I failed to take into account were muscles which were blissfully, if unhealthily, atrophying and were ticked off at having been woken up.  Add to that a body that is ever-so-slowly beginning to show its age.  When the simple act of sitting with my legs crossed proved a challenge, I knew I was in deep, deep trouble.  

In the class we stretched, put our legs in decidedly unnatural positions, and strengthened back and tummy muscles. As I assumed the demonic “downward facing dog” position, I looked through the rivulets of sweat pouring off my forehead at my classmates who didn’t look in the least uncomfortable.  Yet, interestingly enough, as miserable as my body was, my mind was gaining comfort from the one, thus far, major benefit of getting older:  I have enough self-confidence that I no longer care what I look like nor feel that I have to prove myself amongst others.   I was just really mad at myself for letting my body become so inflexible that a simple Yogalates class was causing me pain.    

The physical payoff came, as I knew it would, at the end of the session with a deep full-body relaxation which lasted so long that I threatened to nod off.  The mental payoff from the class lingered the rest of the day with a sense of peace and pride that I didn’t give in to my physical discomfort.  See, kids, Mom doesn't quit a class just because it's hard.  

So, dear Body, I will continue going to Yogalates whether you want to or not.  It’s healthy for me to leave my comfort zone plus the Community Center offers a bargain on the class (I just can’t resist a bargain!).  And, honestly, I should be able to sit, as my daughter says “criss-cross applesauce” without you screaming, “What are you doing to me?!”  Now, where’s the Ben Gay?