I cannot tell if Sophie is a born motivator or a little puke. She has been waking up early to workout with me in the mornings. I use the term “workout” loosely in regards to her (she probably says the same about me). I do feel like I work harder because she literally sits in the rocking chair and watches much of the time. Doesn’t even rock the rocking chair-I think I could let it go if she rocked the rocking chair. I mean it’s a rocking chair. Rocking.. chair- sit on the couch if you aren’t going to rock. Any who, yesterday my dear daughter sat in the chair and cried because she wanted ice cream.
Let me paint the picture: me sweating and trying to catch my breath. Sophie blurry eyed, just arrived out of her bed 20 minutes late to game time- “I wanted ice cream,” she cries piteously to me while… oh yeah, while doing nothing. Me: “shhhh. You will have ice cream again, someday.” Was I talking to her or me? I don’t know- it’s a deep question that I will have to explore. This morning we moved to some floor work. She again joins the workout 20 minutes late and then complains about how long it’s taking. Sophie gets up from the chair (yay!) and joins me on my yoga mat. Oddly, the fact that the yoga mat is built for one doesn’t seem to bother her. She proceeds to tell me that I have the fingers on my hand placed incorrectly. I think if I were to make a list of my “problem areas” my fingers would probably come close to the end of the list. Really close to my appendix and my tonsils. Also I’m not sure that the workouts we are doing even address finger sculpting. Honestly, I don’t know if I responded to this critique. She moved on pretty fast from that to saying “That cake I ate last night was really good.” What the heck, kid? Have you no sense of decency?! She may be fired by the end of the week.
So I’m on my way to be a bad ass boxer at my class. I am in all black, got my hands wrapped. I am feeling really tough. Like god help that punching bag today because I am going to kick ass tough. And then out of nowhere drives up this little old lady. She was totally sweet.
How do I know she was sweet? Well, she stopped me on my way into boxing to ask directions. So I guess I wasn’t even tough enough to scare of Granny.
To make matters worse I’m the worst direction giver in the history of man. I am not even sure I gave her the right answer. I just said go that way towards the city ma’am. And then I apologized profusely for being me- the me that sucks at directions. She said it was not problem and that it was fine.
I just read that back and ok I definitely need to work on the boxer attitude. I let her walk all over me didn’t I? Lesson learned.
I want to share a story with you about triumph. About overcoming adversity. About perseverance…
but I don’t really have anything that matches that description. You’ll have to settle for me giving you a little update on my physical fitness.
I have been attending kickboxing at least 3 times a week since I joined. On a scale of 1-10 with 1 being “I hate myself for signing up” and 10 being “This was a wise decision” I’m at about an 8. I would be at a 10, but I can’t bring myself to be one of the people that “loves” exercise. A 10 would be really hugging that line a little too closely for comfort.
There have been days of sore muscles. There have been sweat stains. There have been sets of pushup’s with weights where I literally choose to fall on my face because it seemed less painful then pushing myself up yet again.
I had a proud moment today where we had to do a lap around the building. I was the first one out of the gate and I was first to get back into the building. I have never in my life been first running anywhere (except to the ice cream line- amiright?) Granted I may or may not have dumped dumbbells on the floor, tripped people, dropped banana peels and pushed – but hey that’s what winners do.
The only thing that slightly dampened the excitement was when I got back to the door to enter. There is a glass door, and then two glass panes on each side of the door (so you know- a normal door like you encounter daily.) I nearly ran into a glass pane. I suppose what makes that even stupider is the lady trainer was literally holding the door open and I still tried to cut in before the door. If I would have been thinking harder I would have remembered I had my boxing gloves on. I totally could have punched through it and been fine. Maybe even pretended it was the end part on American Gladiators where you have to pick a door and fight through to finish. Where you at Nitro? Please tell me some of you remember the original American Gladiators.
Yeah, so that’s how I’m doing at the moment.
I know in this sometimes dangerous world people carry a concealed weapon permit to feel safe. Well, they carry the permit in order to carry the weapon. I have no political opinions to share on that. I have only brought it up to say that I have chosen to go a different direction:
I don’t conceal them so much because I haven’t found a holster that does the job without giving me a very awkward hunchback look. They tend to be pretty obvious and I guess that works out well for me. I believe thus far they have served as enough intimidation to not get any flack. Granted I didn’t get flack before I had them, but I don’t want to muddy the waters with too many of those things they refer to as “facts.”
I see the doubt in your eyes about how this will would turn out. Let me take you on a journey through my head. This is how I see things going down. You’re all alone walking to your car when suddenly a person tries to steal your purse.
“Whoa! That’s my purse! Boy oh boy!”
(takes out wrist wraps and boxing gloves)
“You are soooo going to get it now!”
(starts to wrap the left hand)
“Man, when this hand gets wrapped in the 4 minutes it usually takes, you’re in so much trouble…”
(still wrapping the left hand)
“…especially when I finish with this hand and move to wrapping my right hand”
(Wrapping continues. Awkward silence.)
” So umm.. What do you do for a living?”
Purse stealer “I am a dog trainer. How about you?”
“I am an MMA fighter. Don’t think you can train this animal!” I’m not above lying in made up situations to gain the upper hand.
(Brief pause to crack my knuckles for intimidation.)
“Nice day out…”
Criminal checks his watch.
(Ok, now finally putting one glove on.)
“There is going to be two hits in this fight. Me hitting you, and you hitting the ground. Are you ready for that?”
(Uh-oh. When I’m in boxing class someone usually puts on the gloves for me. It’s a little tricky to get that other glove on.)
“Forget that thing I just said for now. Can you help with this other glove?”
Alleged thief shakes his head and points at his watch. Tosses my purse back and proceeds into Pet Depot for his appointment.
Me yelling after him: “Will your appointment be long? Like how long does training a dog take? Should I wait here?”
Would be thief starts jogging to the door.
Victory is sweet. Remove gloves and hand wraps while rapping “Mama said knock you out.”
Do you see how this is the most brilliant idea ever now?