Branching out

John has been taking boxing classes at two local UFC gyms (used to be LA Boxing) for about a year and a half now.  I went with him Friday morning for the first time.  The instructor was really nice.  He wrapped my hands for me, found me a pair of boxing gloves (bright blue), gave me some pointers, and checked on me a few times during class.  A class I was sure I could handle.  I’m in okay shape, right?  I thought I knew what it was going to be like.  John had described his classes to me dozens of times.  They learn punches and combos, and they hit punching bags suspended from above, and they do calisthenics between rounds of hitting the bags.  And yeah, we did all those things.  Over and over, no breaks, at a pretty fast pace, for an hour.  It was nuts.  And it was hard.  I was sweating like a pig.  I went to get some water at one point and realized I couldn’t open the top with my gloves on, but after 5 seconds of trying to get one glove off, I gave up.  John helped me later.  Next time (if there is a next time), I’ll leave the straw up.  We did a lot of pushups between rounds, and near the end of the class, I got down in the up position and couldn’t move.  No more pushups for me.  Class finally ended, and I went off to work.  I didn’t hurt, but my arms and hands were shaky all morning.  Wraps and gloves are all very well, but my knuckles were red for a few hours.

But still, I didn’t hurt.  Not until I tried to get out of bed this morning.  Almost every muscle in my body, from my butt to my jaw, ACHED.  (I don’t know how my legs escaped, but I’m not complaining about that.)  Most of those muscles still ache.  I was afraid that if I didn’t move, I’d get stuck in some weird position with weird posture forever, so I went to zumba this morning.  Hard, but good.  I stopped feeling like one massive bruise.  The ache began to feel more like the good kind, the you-worked-hard-but-didn’t-hurt-yourself kind.  So this afternoon I got a haircut (basically the same one as earlier in the summer) and brought home milkshakes.  Because if hurting all over doesn’t mean I deserve a milkshake, I don’t know what does.

I haven’t decided if I’m going back Monday morning.  I might.

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