A good moan escaped as I lay sprawled across our bed, lobster red from a really hot bath. The moaning, the bath, and the Naproxen all failed to relieve the screaming muscles.
"Why? Why did you do this to us?" my 40-something body asked me accusingly. "We didn't do anything to you."
It was true. My muscles and joints had been on their best behavior, lounging in the chair, occasionally helping me to the bathroom or the kitchen. They hardly ever complained, although the knee went woppy a couple of times, pretending like it would toss me down in our yard on the way to the mailbox.
So why now, after years of easy living, had I decided to torture my body with exercise? How long had it been, exactly, since I last exercised? Well, let's see...it was in a very difficult period of marriage. Yeah, that was it. About 7 years ago. I had let myself run down and I needed to spruce up mentally and physically. So, I had dropped 30 pounds, exercised, and toned up. The marriage got much better, (not due to the weight loss), I got happy, started eating and gained back all of the weight. *Sigh*
Before that, my exercise kick was triggered by the big 3-0 looming in the horizon. Before that, well...I don't really remember.
This time though, there was no trigger. No emotional need to lose weight. No bombs going on in my life.
This time, it was an entirely different animal. I found an exercise program that I absolutely loved! Zumba. One class of jumping and kicking and sweating and swaying and I was hooked. I found myself looking forward to the class, to seeing all of my zumba buddies. Together we laughed as we stumbled and fumbled along, toning up and losing weight and--having fun!
Alas--my muscles didn't take the Zumba nearly so well. Each class found them protesting, sweating and trembling, hating me and my instructor. My heels ached from worn out shoes. My knees throbbed from lunges and side twists and jumps. But the kicker--the real reason for laying on the bed incapacitated would be 'Heels to Heaven' as our instructor, Carolynn calls it. (Shelley and I figure it was actually 'Heels to Hell' but we aren't going to argue with Carolynn the Cruel, as she is known after an ab workout.)
To do this move, you must lay on your back... on a towel... on the floor. (Did I mention the floor is a long way down when you have creaky knees? I'm certain one of these days the knees will stage a protest and just collapse and I will fall face first onto my towel on the hard gym floor. Please, Shelley, just leave me laying there, okay?)
After getting down on all fours and, slowly, a peice at time, making my way to a supine position, I look up at the ceiling. Hopefully Shelley will be able to get off of her mat and help me back up after this is over.
"Okay ladies, 'heels to heaven'." We lift our legs, the object being to pick up your rear-end and lift it off the ground with your abs, hence the 'heels to heaven'. My abs have been on vacation since childbirth. With great grunting and struggling, I manage to get going. "Shelley, can you look and see if my bottom is actually coming off the ground or not?" Shelley grunts in return, murmuring "Jamiaca, Jamaica" as sweat rolls down her face. Her goal is a skinny body by cruise time. Mine is to get my 50-pound rear end off the ground with my flimsy, uncooperative ab muscles.
Finally, we hear the "You did great, ladies!"
Yay! It's over. I wobble to my car, wiping sweat, high-fiving other sweaty, mentally broke down ladies, who, like me, think this is fun.
Tonight will find all of us, pleased as punch with ourselves as we lay sprawled and helpless on our bed or couch, unable to move, and looking forward to the next Zumba class with Carolynn the Cruel.