Thanks to my husband's snoring and our attentive dog Mo who, with several nudges of his cold nose and in-your-face worried panting seems to say, "Hey, that guy's growling with his nose or something. Hey, you better check on him. Hey, that doesn't sound good. Uh, hey, sorry to bug you but he's still making that sound, soooo..." so I was up before the alarm at 4:15. I was pretty sore and still fatigued a bit from yesterday. I did have the thought -- say, I could just go back to sleep on the couch and go to Bulldog tomorrow! But I finally know myself well enough to figure out that that is the wrong choice.
So I checked the Bulldog website for today's workout. This can go either way. I can look and prepare myself mentally for what I'll have to do. Or I can look, feel fear and resistance, and snuggle on down with the couch instead. This morning I looked and first saw that the workout is called Warrior. Cool! I can be a warrior. Bring it! Next I saw the words "teams of 2." Oh no. Teamwork.
Flashback: Chubby little Tami in P.E. (basically any P.E. class except archery and square dancing) -- anytime there were teams, I would feel sick. (In fact, I learned to use that to my advantage to get out P.E. as often as I could.) I was always one of the last ones picked. I understand why: in general, you want your team to win. I was chubby and uncoordinated. I ducked when any sort of ball came at me. If there was running, I was the last one in, wheezing and pink, kicking my ankles until they bled. Why would someone want me on their team? I understood -- and because I understood, it made it even worse when I was on a team that lost. It was my fault. I slowed them down or hit the deck when I was supposed to catch or throw or vault it into the air. I sucked!
Yet someone always had to pick me. Someone always had to "take the fat girl home."
Back to today: At Bulldog we are grownups. But there are some very competitive grownups at The Pound. I definitely do not want to negatively impact their performances! Maybe I should stay home. But I told Gio and Greg and Juanita and my blog that I would go today. I wanted to go today. So I went. I went with the thought that maybe I could plead my way out of being on a team. (Why would I think this would work? I can't plead my way out of anything at Bulldog! Which is good!)
When I got there, the 5:00 am class was finishing up. There were three women in the class and they did the workout separately. There's hope! I thought.
Same warm-up as yesterday though I did get to some pull-ups.
Warrior workout: 10 repetitions for time: 1 power clean, 3 hang squat cleans, 2 push jerk/split jerks, 30 meter run
There were a lot of us in class this a.m. and it was time to "team up" -- but before I could start to plead, I was teamed up with Jay and Amanda. Both have recently started the regular classes. Jay told us that he's 63! and he has knee replacements. And he was so apologetic before we even started and said he didn't want to slow down our time. This was a strange reversal for me. I had the most experience out of the three of us and I felt confident that I could do the moves (with a 35 lb bar) and even run 30 meters pretty well. But I didn't have any worries about any of us slowing each other down. That's not what it's about. It's about our team finishing as best as they can. Make sure you do your best, but also support your teammates and get your team through it.
Chk chk! A light bulb came on in my head. If I think this way, why wouldn't my other teammates at Bulldog? I looked around and realized that I could have been on almost anyone's team at The Pound and they would have cheered me on. (Truth be told, as I mentioned above, there are some competitive folks who might have been dismayed if I had been their teammate, but I honestly think that after a quick mention of what teamwork really means, they would be cool with it.) In fact, being in Bulldog is like being on a team. At every workout we cheer each other on, keep each other going until everyone finishes. So hold on, hold on, yes, yes... now I get it! I have been on a team this whole time AND I PICKED IT MYSELF! Whoa. Major epiphany. Choruses of angels should start singing right about here.
Because my teammates are beginners and I am just starting back, we did 5 rounds each instead of 10, as a relay of sorts with two of us going at once and then 1. Our time was 14:39 and we had a lot of fun to boot. I will be back at The Pound on Thursday.
One more quick note about P.E. though. How sad is it that not one P.E. teacher was encouraging to me? (I think Mr. Simper [yes, really his name] was kind and took pity on me by letting me out of some of the more heinous events in his classes.) But even more sad is the fact that this picking of teams business and P.E. humiliation has scarred a lot of kids and probably affected their opinion of and likeliness to exercise. Kids can be cruel, I know, but kids can also be taught better about what it means to work on a team and what it means to "win".
Sometimes it just so happens that when you take the fat girl home, she is an awesome "score." (wink)
1 comment:
I know how you feel. Being picked last in PE, and made to feel like a liability by the "teacher", definitely discouraged me against doing any kind of sport activity or exercise. I hope that's changed a bit in schools now. Sometimes I want to find my old PE teachers (especially Mr. Million - yup, his real name) and hit them in the damn face.
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