Same shirt, different pants! Here’s another tune I came up with a while ago; the title I came up with today.
Last night I returned to kickboxing after a good two years off. I say “a good two years” only because that is the common phrase. In fact, it was not a good two years off. It was two years of significantly decreased physical activity and significantly increased midriff. It was two years of me finally starting to feel like I’m getting old. Now that my Monday nights are open again, I have signed up and I am going to try to get back into it. After last night, it seems that I will have a lot of work to do.
I was good to see some familiar faces; faces of individuals that have been able to keep up the commitment. I was hesitant to start, but I soon got back into the groove. To my delight, my technique still seems to be there, but, alas, my cardio and strength have taken a hit. This was most evident when we did our Olympic 5 at the end of class. The Olympic 5 is a series of one minute sets of calisthenics, one after another – abdominals, push-ups, jumping jacks with a jumping knee tuck in the middle, burpies (thrust jumps), and mountain climbers. I was doing alright with the abs, but when we switched to push-ups I could barely lower myself halfway down; I was becoming upset. As we moved onto jumping jacks my will to continue was ebbing away at a quickening pace, but I had to push on, so I only did the knee tucks for every third or fourth jump. Burpies was a demonstration of desperation. I did alright hitting the deck and thrusting my legs out, but when I had to tuck in and jump up, I’m sure I resembled a zombie in a mosh pit – arms limp, head rolled to one side, the very slightest of lift produced by legs that had ceased to work properly, and a soulless groan to complete the picture. Finally, mountain climbers. Up to this point I had been becoming increasingly disappointed, but I was encouraged to find that I was still able to get my knees past my elbows easily. However, that is where the joy ended as it seemed that the particular mountain I was climbing was covered in thigh-deep powder with a nasty wind putting up resistance. I must have also been climbing at quite an altitude, too, because I found myself quite laboured in my breathing as I frantically looked about for my oxygen tank, which was not to be found seeing how I was not on an actual mountain, but rather threatening to set the wood floor on fire by the sheer heat of my burning quads.
Much like my recent runs, my first day back at kickboxing had me feeling like a beginner all over again; which, like my running, is frustrating as all hell. It takes me a long time to get to a point where I feel comfortable doing an activity; sometimes I never make it to that place, so having to go through this process again, blarg! Once again, it’s not just the physical discomfort, it’s the mental discomfort. The physical pain I can live with. In fact, I used to relish the feeling of next-day soreness; it meant that I was continuing to challenge my body. It’s the knowledge that I’ve let myself go that stings in a way that physical pain can’t match.
I just came back from a run at lunch and I fell like shite. Yes, yes. I feel pretty good about getting out, making the effort, calling upon my willpower, et cetera, et cetera; but that’s where it ends.
I had done next to no running in the past couple of months, and hardly any running the months prior to that. As a result my feet were sore, my calves were tight, my quads were jelly, and my breathing was strained. Oh, sure, I started out alright, but it wasn’t long until I started shuffling my feet and sucking wind. It’s not just the physical discomfort, but also the mental discomfort of knowing that I had let myself deteriorate to a point where something which I had been doing on a regular basis now makes me feel like I’m starting all over. I can only imagine what I’ll feel like when I start up with Muay Thai after being away for, what’s it been, two years? More? Oh, joy.
I am out of shape. I can feel it. I can see it. I am going to change it; but it’s going to take some time.
This is a song I came up with whilst sitting in a white wooden chair in my back yard this past summer.