I realize I may be developing a love-hate relationship with my new gym.
The moment I stepped on the studio floor, wearing my 7-year-old Nike Shox with the soles that are falling apart, I realized I had really, really fallen off. Back in my “Fitness Mistress” days I was able to personal train for 2-3 hours, teach two back-to-back high impact cardio classes and jaunt off for an evening of fun and gleeful raucous like I had been leisurely napping all day.
Yea. Those days are gone. Also, when the fuck did my body turn 41?
I mean, all of those, “girl you don’t even look your age” compliments are trash af when you’re in a room full of both lithe and curvy 20 and 30 year olds who clearly have been taking hip hop twerk fitness for months. The most cardio I’ve done was warm up on the elliptical in my buildings gym for 10-15 minutes every other week. I knew I wasn’t in the best shape - but my flexibility, agility and endurance are damn near non existent.
I’ve been humbled. And that’s just a small piece of my humble pie.
As I stand in the back of the room trying to pick up the dance routine feeling as awkward as a baby deer taking their first steps, I become hyper aware of everything happening around me. The twerk that I am trying so hard to do, looks like a pop and lock in the mirror. Just dry as fuck. Like chicken breast in the oven with no seasonings that you neglected to cover with aluminum foil.
I used to be effortlessly sexy. I hate this. #AgingSucks
The instructor is walking around doing what a good instructor is supposed to do. “Good Job Karen! I see you girl!” “Way to go NAT-TAH-LEEEE”. She’s the hype man of the class and its fun to watch her interact. I purposely work harder to nail the routine in hopes that I’ll get a “You go new girl!” #NeedyStudentAlert
Two girls in the center of class, clearly friends, remind me of me and my bestie. They are laughing and fist bumping between breaks; both chiding and encouraging each other. The rest of the class seems to know the dance routine as if by heart. All choreographed and 1-2-3’ing to the beat, waiting for their favorite song so they can do their personal rendition of “So you think you can dance.”
It’s fun to watch and I have never felt so alone.
Since moving to #Houston, I’ve been trying to find my place here. Since I work from home, I’ve found a few local coffee shops to work from during the day to minimize feeling isolated. I also found a church to attend on Sunday and of recent, this gym. The coffee shop and church are places that I would normally go alone. It's always been my go to when I want to be around people but also be alone with my thoughts. These dance classes though - they remind me of the all the things I miss about home.
I miss champagne brunch on Sunday and rooftop parties after work. I miss pop-up visits that last through the night and laughing over wine until tears fall down my face. I miss liquid lunches on sunny afternoons at my favorite Jamaican spot that make it hard to go back to work. I miss Saturday morning coffee at my best friend's house that turns into lunch and sometimes dinner. I miss “hey girl I’m on my way, get dressed” text messages followed by nights I’m too drunk to remember correctly. I miss being around women that make me feel like I’m apart of something special. I miss my friends.
I moved to Houston to get my Happily Ever After. I moved for love and it's still one of the best decisions I’ve ever made. I just never expected my fairytale to have any sad parts. I really want to stop going to class but to be honest I love it more than I hate it. Plus, I’ve never been a quitter nor one to back down from a challenge. So I’m going to replace these old gyms shoes, buy me a sports bra to accommodate my “weight gain boobs” and sign up for another couple months of classes. I’m determined to get my sexy back and I may as well get the best body of my life while I’m in Houston living my best life. And maybe, just maybe I’ll find my new place while I’m finding my new self.
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