Well, sh%$. I am still sore from a workout four days ago and it ain’t lookin’ like its going to feel better anytime soon. Can someone tell me why I went through this torture? I will tell you why. My charity team gets together once a month for a cross-training session. Cross-training in this definition means: “squats, lunges, jumps, and other things that make your legs extremely sore”. I wasn’t here last month so I couldn’t go to the last one, and I have extreme guilt about not being a good teammate if I don’t do these group activities, so I had to go this time. I had already done a big run that day, was tired from something else I don’t even remember, and knew it would be a tough workout but the guilt just ate away at me until I finally just got in the car and went.
Now, I’m the kind of athlete who thrives on someone else telling me what to do in a workout; that’s what happened from age 8 to 22 for me so I have plenty of practice taking orders. I can run by myself but not really do sprints (why would I if someone wasn’t making me?); I can lift weights but not really get stronger by doing anything intense (again, why?); I’m pretty healthy but I’m certainly not “cut” or “ripped” or losing pounds by any means. I think this group workout is good for me for many reasons, among them that I would never do the exercises on my own. That’s the problem, though. Because I never do “flying jump squats with a twenty pound dumbbell” or “side lunges with hops, skips and pushups” or “sprints” or some such nonsense, I get mad (read: super) sore when I do. Which, at this point, is once a month or less for the past four months and, um, never in the past five years. After this workout, I feel muscles in my groin and hips I can’t even find in a physiology textbook. Things not connected to anything we worked out start to hurt the next day—I think my armpit muscle was trying to get some attention. I hobble up and down stairs at the rate of a slug for days; I must look like someone who just went through an assault or child-birth or something else scary and painful.
However, it feels good. The group part of it is pretty nice: there’s always someone slower and weaker than I am, which is important if you are me. The coach part of it is very nice: I don’t have to plan anything or hold myself to anything so there’s little to no thinking involved. The actual workout itself is superbly nice: it can’t possibly be boring because I have no idea what’s next and I know it’s good for me because I sweat through two shirts, drink two Nalgenes’ worth of water, and fall asleep before 9pm. If this workout wasn’t $25 a session I would sign up for some on my own, seriously. I would be jacked if I did this sort of thing once a week. Alas, I will not pay for anything like this and, doubly alas, I will not plan or make myself do anything like this on my own. Therefore, I resign myself to a week of sore muscles and limited mobility for the sake of not feeling like I am letting down my team (even though about six of 35 people actually show up each time).
Bonus: the charity gives out prizes to those who attend these sessions and I just won a signed 2004 World Series baseball! Cha-ching! Too bad I am too sore to even pick it up to examine its legitimacy…
Now, I’m the kind of athlete who thrives on someone else telling me what to do in a workout; that’s what happened from age 8 to 22 for me so I have plenty of practice taking orders. I can run by myself but not really do sprints (why would I if someone wasn’t making me?); I can lift weights but not really get stronger by doing anything intense (again, why?); I’m pretty healthy but I’m certainly not “cut” or “ripped” or losing pounds by any means. I think this group workout is good for me for many reasons, among them that I would never do the exercises on my own. That’s the problem, though. Because I never do “flying jump squats with a twenty pound dumbbell” or “side lunges with hops, skips and pushups” or “sprints” or some such nonsense, I get mad (read: super) sore when I do. Which, at this point, is once a month or less for the past four months and, um, never in the past five years. After this workout, I feel muscles in my groin and hips I can’t even find in a physiology textbook. Things not connected to anything we worked out start to hurt the next day—I think my armpit muscle was trying to get some attention. I hobble up and down stairs at the rate of a slug for days; I must look like someone who just went through an assault or child-birth or something else scary and painful.
However, it feels good. The group part of it is pretty nice: there’s always someone slower and weaker than I am, which is important if you are me. The coach part of it is very nice: I don’t have to plan anything or hold myself to anything so there’s little to no thinking involved. The actual workout itself is superbly nice: it can’t possibly be boring because I have no idea what’s next and I know it’s good for me because I sweat through two shirts, drink two Nalgenes’ worth of water, and fall asleep before 9pm. If this workout wasn’t $25 a session I would sign up for some on my own, seriously. I would be jacked if I did this sort of thing once a week. Alas, I will not pay for anything like this and, doubly alas, I will not plan or make myself do anything like this on my own. Therefore, I resign myself to a week of sore muscles and limited mobility for the sake of not feeling like I am letting down my team (even though about six of 35 people actually show up each time).
Bonus: the charity gives out prizes to those who attend these sessions and I just won a signed 2004 World Series baseball! Cha-ching! Too bad I am too sore to even pick it up to examine its legitimacy…
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