Bridget Fujioka brought the pain today.
For two and a half years, I’ve tried to lose the pesky 30 lbs that can no longer be classified as baby-weight. They’re officially ice cream-weight. I’ve had bits of success but none of it has lasted.
I go to the gym but I always wind up on the same elliptical machine listening to the same Rhianna song over and over. The one time I attempted to begin a weight lifting regime (Come on. Weight machines. Not real weights.) I slipped a disc in my lower back.
Needless to say, I wasn’t getting what I wanted out of the gym. I don’t employ enough variety. Plus I’m lonely in the gym.
Bridget’s class had my body working in ways it hasn’t in many years. It surprised me.
It was a core class; the towel they tried to give me at check-in should have been a hint. I’m not sure why my arms were shaking afterward but I think my point (my thighs are too) is that this class was the full body workout I’ve been aching for. (Which is why I’m still aching?)
Quivering and underused muscles aside, I also admit to watching the yogis around me without judgement. And I wished the internal chatter about my own inadequacies would mirror that. That the negativity and the judgement would subside. Maybe that’s part of the journey as well. Hopefully.