Fear Factor

A new 10 week session began at Next Level today.  And this first day had everything you would expect:  the buzz of excitement; friendly hellos as session-mates greeted each other warmly following what had been a four week break; lots of activity and movement as people warmed up, changed into their workout gear, wrapped their hands (it was a kickboxing day), had “before” photos and measurements taken.

The room was charged with energy…and FEAR!

True, it wasn’t necessarily “wet your pants horror film Jesus take me now I think I’m gonna die fear,” but it was fear, real fear, all the same! 

There was a hint of fear among some of the returning faithful like myself.  Our fear had more to do with how much things were going to hurt and concerns about how our bodies might respond to the workout after a four week hiatus.  Not to mention the overdose of carbs, sugar and fats that most of us probably enjoyed in our respective “Last Supper Before We Hit the Gym” feasts from the night before.

But the REAL fear was among the new members; those who were trying it for the first time.  I could see it in their eyes; the way they nervously twitched as they waited for our class to be invited into the gym; in the “deer and headlight” looks they exhibited as they watched in horrid fascination at what the class preceding ours was doing.  And frankly, the guy who came out of the gym and threw up all over the rug in the waiting area didn’t help ease their panic!

And my heart felt more than just a twinge of compassion for each and every one of them as I watched them twitch, stare, swallow hard, and laugh nervously.  Because it wasn’t that long ago that I was one of them.  And to a certain degree, I still am.

I joined NLXF in September of 2011.  Actually it was September 25….at 6:29 a.m.  I got to the gym at least 20 minutes before my session was to start.  NLXF was in a different location at that time and there was no “holding area.”  People just pretty much waited in their cars until they saw the class before them start to walk out, (or limp, or crawl), depending on what Ryan had made them do that day.

I can distinctly remember sitting in my car, scared out of my mind.  I had the standard fears:  could I make it through the whole hour?  Would I pass out?  Would I throw up on the person next to me? Would I be the oldest?  The weakest?  The most out of shape-est?  Was I wearing the right thing?

And then there were the not so standard fears…would I be able to get my left kickboxing glove on if my right hand already had a glove on?  Did I eat enough before the workout quickly followed by did I eat too much?  Would we get a water break?  Had I remembered to include an emergency contact on my registration form?  What about my blood type?  Would I know anyone?  (Please God…no former boyfriends OR bartenders from any of my favorite places…)  Would any of my current or former students be in the class? (This fear generates from a time when I went to have my yearly mammogram, only to discover that the x-ray technician had “had me in class.”  As you can imagine, that was a ‘special moment’, especially for me J) 

By the time I walked into the gym for the start of my very first class I had managed to work myself into a full blown panic attack.  My “resting” heart rate was probably hovering somewhere around 160 and we hadn’t even started the warm up…and by the time that was done I was completely drenched in sweat.

But as the class went on I began to relax. With each stretch, squat, jab and kick I began to realize that I didn’t have to be afraid.  First of all, no one was even paying attention to me; everyone was so focused on their own efforts that no one had time to even think about whether that old lady in the third row far end had done one or 21 pushups.  And second of all, I felt like they were all silently rooting for me.  There was such a sense of community; of family.  Sort of like working out with my sisters except without the cursing, eye rolling, and sarcasm.

Everyone was more than willing to give a shout of encouragement, invite you to partner with them at the bag, or to help you with your form.  Don’t get me wrong; people were competitive but only with themselves.  As individuals, they were driven and intense.  But collectively, they were passionate and supportive.  There was this amazing spirit of camaraderie which only grew as the days and weeks went on. 

And it continues…the camaraderie…the support…the sense of community.  Since that first day I’ve made incredible “from my gym class” friends…one older than me (Roger J) and the rest significantly younger.  And it is this connection to the people who show up to do the work that keeps me motivated to return day after painful day.

So to all you new people…hang in there.  You will get stronger; you will get fitter; you will get better; you will meet fabulous people. 

I just wish I could tell you you’ll be less sore but you won’t.  You’ll just find better pain meds J