So forever I’ve complained that I’m sooooooo unfit. Not just a little but like omg how many stairs are there to my bedroom unfit. I’ve convinced myself that because I teach all day, run a house and take care of 4 kids that I’m perfectly fit…well fit for purpose anyway. In my wisdom today I got persuaded, by my boss, to go to HIT.
Let me explain HIT stands for High Intensity Training. Seriously the clue should have been in the name. I also think it’s why they use the abbreviation cos seriously who thinks yay high intensity and thinks yay that sounds like fun. Think it’s why the boss didn’t tell me what it stood for either she knew I’d run from the hills.
So I dusted off the trainers from 2006 and pulled out the workout kit praying with all my might that I’d be able to crowbar myself back into them and not look like marshmallow man. It was ok I got there in the end it involved some serious wiggling a few jumps up and down and the leggings were on. On a positive note despite the trauma of getting them on at least I knew there was no way on Earth they were going to fall down.
Now by the time I get to the leisure centre I’m terrified what am I doing? No really i ask myself am I out of my tiny mind? I want to leave, I should leave. Why was then walking into the sports hall towel and water in hand. I hand in my ticket and the instructor says ‘I’ll look after you’. Aw that’s nice he looks after everyone. Maybe then just maybe it’ll be lovely. Is lovely the right word.. no pleasant. …no not too horrific is probably the most fitting.
So we run. Oh right I can do that. I have two legs I can put one got in front of the other. So I run. Warm up the instructor shouts from the middle of the circle we’re running in. I know I was feeling warm I’d even go so far as to say I was feeling a little more confident I might actually be able to do this. Then it began.
Reps serious reps of exercises I didn’t even know existed. Over and over. Jumping like a star, push ups for fun, tummy crunching and throwing around a weight that looked quite a lot like a handbag. That amused me when I saw the men in the class carrying them round. Over and over ‘just 20 reps’ he’d say. Just? Just? Now the use of the word just suggests to me is not going to be that hard. Just be two minutes I say as I pop out. Just a little bit of chocolate when I don’t wanna seem like a pig and devour an entire bar. Just 20 reps but seriously I was at 5 and dying. I was so unfit. Plus I was so shattered I kept losing count I reckon that’s why I was so tired as I’d clearly done double the reps as I’d have to start again. ……not.
So for the full 45 minutes I worked out. Not wander round the gym have a chat between machines workout I really worked out. I hurt, everything hurt, every muscle shook and I thought I would vomit. I think getting through the class without vomiting was a serious achievement.
But seriously I did it. For 45 whole minutes I did it. Did I enjoy it? God no. I think you either have to be some crazy gym bunny or of a sadistic disposition to enjoy that kind of torture. But I did it. I think I’d go so far as to say I might even do it again. Hell? Yes it was but do I feel good now afterwards? Hell yes.
What’s that saying no pain no gain? HIT hurt so much so I better gain loads.