[Originally posted on 8.30.2012]
I heard it would come to this. They warned us during orientation. They said the tears would come, and I figured “Yeah, for some people. But I just don’t cry in public.”
I cried today. In public.
I’m guess there were somewhere between 10-15 women in our class today. And we started by going around the room, reporting our food from yesterday. I was at the very end. And when they got to me, I had to make a snap decision: do I lie, or do I tell the brutal truth?
Let me backtrack for a moment. Yesterday was the first day of my cycle, and I was in immense pain. On top of that, Brad is traveling this week, and won’t be back until tonight. I have handled the first week of school for all 3 boys, plus started this ridiculous 20 week boot camp. When I got home from doing those arm weights yesterday, I took a very hot bath, then fell asleep with wet hair for some amount of time – I’m not sure how long. When I woke up, I actually felt much better. So I went to the kitchen to have lunch, and just couldn’t face having tuna fish again. Since I had not yet been to the grocery store, I had no fruit, no vegetables (except the frozen variety) and very little in my pantry that would count as healthy.
Then I spotted the half-eaten bag of Tostitoes w/lime flavoring. My absolute favorite. I remembered the half container of refried beans in the fridge and I made a decision. Forget Ron Lyons, forget exercising, forget all that. I’m having a plate of home made nachos. And as long as I’m blowing it, I’m drinking a can of Coke from the case I purchased that’s in my fridge. And when I was done with all that, I ate the rest of the bag of Tostitoes and drank a second can of Coke.
About middle of the afternoon, it began to really sink in that I was going to have to find a way to deal with what I did. So I decided just to call it my “Cheat Meal” for the week. I can have anything during my cheat meal, as long as I eat it in one sitting.
By evening, I noticed something: I felt guilty about what I had for lunch. And the feeling was so familiar, what caught me off guard was the realization that I had not felt that guilt for the first 3 days of this week. And it was the first 3 days in recent memory that I did not feel guilty about what I ate. I’m sure there was a time when I ate healthy and didn’t feel guilty, but I can’t remember it.
So then I had to go face the music in class. By the time I arrived this morning, I had overslept my alarm, woken up in a panic, rushed to get the boys ready for school, then couldn’t get the garage door to close, couldn’t get in touch with my husband, who has been out of town since Sunday, and finally figured out how to close it manually in time to just make it to class by 8:30.
They started at the opposite end of the room, then worked their way around to me. I was the very last person to share what I ate yesterday, so I told about breakfast and then said “Lunch was my cheat meal” then skipped to dinner. But I was informed that we have to share our cheat meal, so I read off what I had, including the two Cokes.
I heard several women gasp audibly when I said I had 2 Cokes yesterday. Seriously.
Next, Trish (trainer) asked if this cheat meal was planned, and when I said “no” she said that it’s not how it works. You can’t cheat, then just label it our cheat meal because then, before you know it, we’re having 2 or 3 cheat meals per week. So she told me I was going to have to do 25 push ups. When I (honestly) told her I didn’t know that, she let me off the hook – this time. The girl on the bike next to me said she had to do 100 push ups last week for eating a cinnamon roll and something else one morning. Then she said if you cheat too often, she will make the entire room of women do the push ups (!!!!).
I was so humiliated. I wanted the ground to swallow me whole. I wanted to disappear and never reappear. But it was time to do cardio.
Trish was in the military prior to having this job, so we had a “military-style workout” this morning. It started with warm-up on the bikes, followed by 90 push ups.
That’s right – I said 90 push ups. After doing arm weights yesterday.
I got to 30 and thought I was going to die. I hit 40 and by then, most of the girls were done. When I got to 50, I was done. D-O-N-E. But no, at that point, several of the girls got down with me and asked me what number I was on. Then they waited while I did 51, and they all did it with me, counting out loud. Then 52, and so on. Everyone was shouting encouraging words at me, but that only made it worse. I wanted to disappear. It was humiliating, so humiliating.
And so I cried as I finished 60, then 70 and finally reached 80 (I think).
No one noticed the tears since they mixed with the sweat dripping off me, but it was one of the worst moments of my life. It ranks right up there with those days in P.E. in 7th grade when I would be the very last person running around the track. Even Elsa – a fat girl (and I wasn’t fat in 7th grade) – beat me when we ran.
Now, don’t misunderstand. I appreciated what those girls were trying to do. It’s just that I HATE to stand out. And being on that floor struggling to push myself up (and I was doing these modified, on my knees) while everyone watched was just…awful.
After class everyone kept saying “Good job” and “Keep it up – it will get easier” and “Everyone struggles in the beginning”. It was all I could do to keep from yelling back at them all “SHUT UP. SHUTUPSHUTUPSHUTUPSHUTUP.”
As I said in my last post, these are very nice women. Who else would get down and do push ups with me just to encourage me? But sometimes it feels like they are from a completely different planet from the one I live on. Like I’ve been transported to a different world, where the people are not just a different race, but an entirely different species.
It’s almost 1pm, and I’m better now. I’ve had my tomatoes and avocados for lunch (threw out the rest of those re-fried beans) and you better believe I’m not going to make the same mistake I made yesterday twice.
Next time I blow it, I’m going to lie like a dog.
