In fact, I would also like to personally bitch-slap the person who invented 'burpees' (see a delightful animation here of what this entails) although I strongly suspect that the person who invented that particular brand of physical torture would be able to slam me through a wall with one flick of his well-defined beefcake finger.
I suppose it's not really their fault for making up the individual exercise...the fault lies with the sadistic bastards who string them all into one big hellish routine and make you do them for 1.5 continuous hours with only three 45-second breaks.
You can probably guess what I did yesterday in my boxing class. And you can probably guess why I was staggering around Melbourne today, unable to use the full function of my legs because the muscles in my thighs kept screaming, "You did this, bitch!" over and over again with each painful step. I looked like an extra who'd escaped from the set of Dawn of the Dead- each jolting, staggered step was taken with my legs straight out, and I probably had a constipated-looking, gaping-mouthed expression of pain on my face to match even the finest zombie acting.
It was only my second boxing class- I went last week with my friend, K, and that was at her university. This time, I suggested we try my university's gym.
Oh God.
Y'see, last time we went we were actually recruited by a boxing instructor at K's uni who was really short on participants. There were six people in the class, of which K and I made up 1/3. Furthermore, there was also an overweight Asian guy so there was at least someone who was lower than our current level of fitness (yeah, schadenfreude, I know...but admit it, you feel a bit better when you're not the most unfit person in the room...)
This time...the class was full. Full of regulars, and each one of those regulars had a ripped six-pack. Even the girls had bulging deltoids in their arms the size of rolled-up socks. There was an Asian guy next to me, and when his singlet rode up all I saw was rock-hard, rippled abs that made him look like Liu Kang from Mortal Kombat come to life. It was terrifying.
It's hard to describe exactly what they did in that class. First off, there was a bit of boxing. After that, Person A had to do 10 punches (caught by Person B), run to the other side of the room, do 5 squats, run back, run back again and drop the ground, run back, and then swap with Person B (who all this time had to jog on the spot.) After this, we had to do the whole thing again but with 20 punches, then 30, 40, 50 all the way up to 100...and then count down again to 90, 80, 70 all the way back down to ten.
Our sadistic instructor was also adamant that we all do this continuously and without a break- although he said that if we were first-timers we could take a drink. K and I grabbed a drink at the 100 mark- and the instructor actually came over and suggested that we start the count back down at 60 instead of 100. Even with this pity discount, we still finished at the same time as everyone else. Oh, and you know what? Always wear a sports bra when boxing...because as I discovered, you can't actually pull a wayward strap back up WHEN YOUR ENTIRE HAND IS ENCASED IN A GIANT PADDED GLOVE.
Anyway...
After that, we had three rounds of what could only be described as pure torture. I'm not exactly the fittest person in the world, but K at least is pretty good, and we were both driven the point of near-collapse. I wasn't sure if I could properly describe this in words, so I took the liberty of drawing a highly detailed, beautifully crafted diagram:
And yes, that was my exact expression the entire time. I don't think I've hissed 'son of a bitch!' that many times under my breath- I achieved a new personal best.
Anyway, the diagram above shows what the instructor could call out- we were at opposite sides of the room, and we'd be doing simulataneous but different exercises from that group in the middle. Again, continuously. And timed. With no breaks, except 45 seconds between rounds. And it wasn't a matter of just going through the list- he could pick anything from that list, as many times as he wanted. It was hideous. The pathetic thing was the 'crawling'...I dropped, exhausted, to my hands and knees and started to drag myself along the ground using my fingernails as claws. I looked like a demented overgrown toddler. Then I realised that everyone else had their butts in the air and their knees off the ground (cue another "SON OF A BITCH!") so I had to follow suit. There was more than one point where I considered just smacking my face into the ground and breathing in the smell of sweet, sweet carpet rather than get up and go on.
After the three rounds, an hour had passed and we thought that we were finished. But oh no...there was something else called the 'Circle of Pain'...but since we were first-timers we didn't have to do it with weights. I can safely say that the Circle of Pain was NOT a misnomer.
After the Circle of Pain, where my arms had gone numb, we had to do 50 sit-ups, followed by 20 splices. On the 29th sit-up, I looked over at K, where we had both flopped back on the mat trying to muster up the strength to keep going, and we started giggling hysterically from exhaustion. Fortunately, after the splices the sadistic instructor called time, and we picked ourselves off the mat and staggered out (after I had finally unleashed another torrent of "SON OF A BITCH! SON OF A BITCH!")
And that is why I am in a lot of pain right now.
But I came to a sad realisation after boxing. Although I may possibly go back to that particular class when I get a bit fitter (i.e a year at least from now) I may have to give up on my dream of being Kitana. Probably not achievable if I have to urge to flop down on the floor after only one round...
