As I've mentioned, I am trying out a gym membership this week. Last night, I tried out a class entitled, "Les Mills Body Combat." Just like Monday, I had zero clue what to expect. I laced up my sneakers and walked into the studio with my water bottle, ready for a kickboxing-esque workout.
This studio is fairly large, with wooden floors in various tones. There is one wall of just windows into the gym, and a wall with the body weight straps on them. The front has a speaker system, and not much else. Yesterday I noticed the dance instructor must have made a few notes on the mirror. I saw scribbles about mambo and cha cha.
When I first walked in, I saw three instructor-like people chatting at the front. There was a gal about my age with a round face and obvious muscle mass, with bangs hanging right over her eyes. She had bright yellow training gloves that matched her shirt.
There was a tall and thin guy, with big thick glasses. He had this fancy red workout shirt on and appeared to be made completely of wiry muscles.
There was a small, petite gal all in black as well. She looked like the type to completely shock you with her fighting skills. She looked the type to be wearing a sundress and taking down someone.
The Thai began. It's funny to look at myself in these classes. When I'm on my own, or with my American peers, I feel a normal size. When I am in a class looking at all of the Thais around me, I feel huge, and red, and sometimes (sometimes) ungraceful.
The music starts, and we begin. The first instructor, the larger girl, began the class with her high pitched voice. We started with some warm up type songs. I found myself struggling to keep up despite all the kickboxing classes I've done. I had trouble with the mirroring thing. I am watching them and can't understand what they are talking about, but it is challenging for me to figure out which foot goes where and how. I realized toward the end that the guy instructor was standing in the back and that I could mirror him while I saw him and myself in the mirror.
It was enjoyable, this section. I enjoyed the exercise, and to some extent the music. I heard techno versions of songs I like. It was fun as well to watch the instructor blink the sweat and hair from her eyes every time she brought a punch back.
Then the devil came.
The guy instructor was unlike anyone I had ever seen before. Now, I was kickboxing in Pittsburgh, and there was an instructor there who was somewhat similar. Every class of his wrecked me in the best way possible. Jeff. There's a man with more energy than he can tolerate in his every move. I remember one class with him... we must have done at least 100 burpees over the course of an hour. Between kickboxing sets, burpees. After running, burpees. After burpees, burpees. Energy overload. This guy was the same. Holy moly.
The first thing we started with was jumping lunges, then squats, then lunges, then squats, then more jumping lunges. Good god. Man, what a song. Then he kept going and going, harder and harder, and continuing to push us and yell.
Then, the third gal. She had a rough first song because her mic box kept falling off her (much smaller) hips. Lots of punching, lots of kicking, lots of quick, sharp movements. She has this delicate and soft voice, which really doesn't match the punches I saw her throw. Throughout her set, the other woman started yelling loudly... what I thought was nonsense motivation... but might have been words.
And then, the devil again.
For ab work and this kicking combo which was nearly impossible. Then we all got mats to kneel on as we kicked at various speeds, usually slow, to work on the abs. Holy moly, I was hurting.
I was going to stay for yoga, but instead I went for food and quiz night at this bar I like, Baan Baan. I saw Kim and Dani and the girls, and Soly even offered me a slice of pizza. Her personal pizza. You don't understand how awesome this is.... that girl can put away more food than anyone I know. I feel like I've made it with those little ones. And I feel mighty sore this morning, in a great way.
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