"Held on a Saturday, by Monday I was sore beyond any human measure thanks to the intro class..."
“You're better best to rearrange…” -- "Finest Worksong" R.E.M.
I’m married to a Virgo, which means that I merely orbit and have no control of the neatly organized and disciplined world where I live. There is little that goes unexamined, researched, color coordinated or labored over—often for months—before it becomes part of the family. For example, we don’t necessarily shop for groceries as much as we adopt food group ideologies.
As an Aquarian, I am the balloon anchored to the rock that is my wife. Without her, everything would be “far out” and worth selling the dogs, spending the mortgage and eventually end up memorialized as a neck tattoo. When she registered for a boot camp exercise class and something called Kettlebell, I knew she was serious and at the very least, an expert on the subject before even starting the class.
For the uninitiated, Kettlebell or Russian (girya) Kettlebell is a balance of physics and choreographed weight transfer. It’s not weight “lifting” in a traditional sense; you lift, squat, hoist and swing a cast-iron ball with a handle using the natural pivots and explosive movement of the body. Pieced together swings, dead lifts, squats and other miscellaneous torture basics result in a cardiovascular hurricane. Fifty minutes of this Machiavellian shit and eventually you’ll be carved out of rock.
I measure a well-toned body by the number of ceases defined on the body in moments of stasis or casual movement: the hard lines in the shoulder when adjusting in a car seat; a road map of muscle and vessel on the calf when riffling through a shelf in the coat closet; the geometry of the back realized in the morning’s first yawn and stretch…For 12 weeks, my wife rose at 4:00 a.m. and was sweating, thrusting, breathing like a perv by 5:00 a.m. She shrunk before my eyes; the results were staggering. As you may imagine, it was only a matter of time until I gave into the gravitational pull of this class.
On July 25th I started my first day of Kettlebell Bootcamp. I should mention that I weathered a mandatory introductory class before the camp began. Why? This type of exercise, if done incorrectly, can seriously wreck you up. Form is key. FYI: If your gym provides Kettlebell instruction, make sure certified trainers are leading the class; otherwise, you’ll end up buying your chiropractor a new Landrover.
Held on a Saturday, by Monday I was sore beyond any human measure thanks to the intro class. I felt like the blood in my veins had been replaced with napalm. My gait looked like some terrible mosey…some broken rodeo clown walking down the road to the plasma bank…sweet God it hurt.
And what did I do? I went back. Tried another class. Nope, the ass-pain never went away. As I sit to write this, Ralphy— the name for my ass-pain—is still there. How was the first week of class? Let’s just say the honeymoon didn’t last long…