And how was your weekend?

Not long ago I told y’all about the class I was taking that gotten me back in shape, helped me lose twenty pounds, and let me show that little cheerleader that “old” people could still clean her clock.

That class is called BodyFlow. It’s based on Tai Chi, Yoga and Pilates and builds strength and flexibility. It’s an amazing mind-body workout that makes me sweat yet leaves me feeling calm and centered at the end of class. I go twice a week and would go more often if my gym offered more classes.

Well, the gym is going to start offering more classes. Because I’m going to teach them.

Yep. I spent the weekend becoming an instructor. Me. A fitness instructor. It simply beggars belief, I know. Hell has frozen over, the pigs are flying and my dead body must be around here someplace.

But I will say that training was one of the hardest things I’ve put myself through as a full-grown adult. I know I put my body through a lot when I was dancing, but I know better now. It takes me a lot longer to recover now than it did back then. (The hangovers hurt more than they used to…) I’m not a kid anymore.

The training nearly killed me. Three days. Nine or ten hours each day. On the last day, I did a 2 hour masterclass that had me crying. But you know what? I made it though.

I found out that I was a lot stronger than I thought I was. I found out that I could do more than I thought I could. I’m sore all over, there’s not a single muscle in my body that doesn’t hurt, and I found a place past tired that I didn’t know existed.

But I’m pretty darned proud of myself. I made it. I still have to learn the “how to coach” part, but I’m considered strong enough, fit enough, and flexible enough to teach a fitness class. To teach others how to build strength and stamina and flexibility. Whoa.

I’m not only proud of myself, I’m actually kind of impressed with myself too.

But before you think my ego might be getting out of hand, take a look at this.

Those are my feet. With an “L” and an “R” written on them like I’m in kindergarten. Notice, though, that that’s not quite right. I had to do this because as I was doing my training, I was learning to face the class and mirror what I wanted them to do. So I had to call out “left foot,” but pick up my right foot. Do you know how hard that is to do? Especially when you’re trying to stay on the music, remember the choreography and the coaching cues at the same time? So I (and several others in the class) wrote it on our feet. Nothing quite like stopping off at the Wal-Mart on the way home and having people look at your feet and snigger because I’m obviously mentally challenged. That will definitely deflate your ego.

And I’ll probably be wearing it for quite a while as I get used to this…

So, I'm still tired and sore, but I'm still proud. Have you ever pushed yourself past what you thought was your limit, only to find out you had more in you than you thought?

PC