Last night I took a class at Vegas Hot. It was a "90X -Hot Yoga/Pilates" class. The instructor is the guy who teaches kettlebells there and is very popular. I walk in and set down my mat, not having any clue what to expect. I should have known, by looking around, that I was in the wrong place. I mean, the instructor is ridiculous. I mean that in a good way. He has not an ounce of fat on his body and muscles in all the right places. He looks like a statue of male perfection. I was looking around for the elf with the chisel that must follow this guy around and carve out those perfect abs. Seriously, he's ridiculous. That's just the instructor. The students, well, let's just say I didn't see any overweight people in that room. Except for me. That should have set off all sorts of alarm bells and warnings. But like the lobster that sits in the cold water pot, letting the heat rise slowly, I wasn't prepared for the boil.
I can't even remember what we did. I can't rattle off pilates moves and yoga postures. I do remember lots of plank type stuff and I can't do plank. Like at all. The first 45 minutes was some sort of hot pilates boot camp hell with a little yoga mixed in there. I was on my hands and knees, staring down at my mat, dripping sweat, panting, thinking "oh my God, I can't do this. I'm in way over my head, I need to leave right now!"
I looked over at my friend Carmen and whispered what I had just thought. She encouraged me to stay. So I did. I'm quite sure I looked like a train wreck even attempting that class but in the end, when it was over, I was proud of myself for sticking it out.
I've got to try that again!