Working out sucks. There is nothing good about it until it's over. I know there are people out there that would exercise 12 hours a day if they had the time, but I'm not one of them.
I work out every day in our home gym, but I hate it every day. When my friend Jeni mentioned she was taking a boxing class at Title Boxing Club, I jumped on the opportunity. I went to a free trial session and I was not disappointed. I couldn't sit down for at least three days after that first class and it was a struggle to lift my arms above my head.
Eventually another friend joined us that week and it really started to become a party. Most of the time I imagined myself on the Biggest Loser with Jillian Michaels yelling at me to push it for just 30 more seconds. I came home from those workouts feeling badass and way tougher than my suburban soccer mom facade.
That was the first week.
The second week started to get a little tougher. I switched to the 6am class, so it was really hard to get out of a warm bed. There were only a few people, so there was nowhere to hide in the 80 bag room -- that instructor was on me like crazy. I made it every day and was starting to despise lugging myself out into the cold.
Then there was today.
I was in a pretty bad mood and didn't want to go. But I went anyway. It was a crowded class mixed with both men and women and a wide span of ages.
Most people at the gym are very friendly, but unfortunately today I stood next to a women that looked at me like I was an amateur. She kind of chuckled while I struggled to put my hand wraps on before the music blasted through the speakers. She looked to be about my same age, but unlike me, in my oversized cotton t-shirt, she was rocking head-to-toe spandex. I chose to ignore her and stayed in my own little miserable work-out world. During our warm-up we do a variety of squats, bear-crawls, lunges, etc. We tend to do all those exercises between sprints. Today we did the same thing, but with a medicine ball. I picked the 8 pounder and the overachiever next to me grabbed the 12 pounder. Of course she did.
We were swinging the ball down with a squat and then jumped up while swinging the ball back over our head. That's when the unthinkable happened. The moment I decided I will always go to a gym to work out. The moment I decided I love boxing. The moment I realized Karma exists.
On a swing down with the instructor shouting at us to swing bigger and squat lower, suddenly the woman next to me released a toot from her derriere and yelped "OOPS!" She then dropped her ball and ran to the bathroom with her hands cupped over her butt. There were three other people standing by me. At first I just stood there with my mouth open and asked the guy next to me, "What happened?" Totally straight-faced, he said, "I think she just pooped in her pants."
I'm sure I should have exercised maturity and sympathy, but the 12-year-old boy in me came out and I broke out in a fit of giggles. The guy started to smirk too. The other girl with us also started to laugh and suddenly the three of us just couldn't regain our composure.
That woman was in the bathroom for a good long time, and then quickly grabbed her things and snuck out the front door. Even though we were only about 20 minutes into the workout, I was pretty much done. I broke out into an unprovoked giggle every couple of minutes and just couldn't stop myself. Every time I laughed, the two others around me would chuckle and vice versa.
I was worthless that whole hour, but it was the best workout ever. I have NEVER gotten that entertainment on my treadmill at home. I'm going into the gym tomorrow and signing a one-year contract.
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