I keep telling myself that in a day or two, when I can walk again without shuffling like an old lady, I'll be happy about the pain. Of course, at that point it should be gone. Things are always better when the pain is gone.
Kempo class has instituted a new regime. It's a “I'm going to make you suck less” regime laid down by Sensei because apparently we're all wimps.
I know I am. Sadly I still can't even do one real push up. I've got a thousand excuses for that, and not one of them holds water. Effort. It's all about effort, and mine has been seriously lacking lately. So I'm happy about the new regime.
Right now my legs aren't very excited about it.
Last night we did squats. I'm no stranger to squats, but we haven't done any serious rounds of them in a while. And, since this is all new and terrifying, Sensei had is squatting down, touching our butts on something and then standing back up. Okay. Ouch, but okay. We did like thirty of those.
Then—perhaps we weren't grimacing enough—we did thirty more, only this time we got to pass around a 4lb ball that we held over our heads.
So lower squats than usual, touching my butt to something that was, in my knees opinion, way to close to the ground, and passing exercise balls around over our heads. This is why I go to class!
Yes, I'm a wimp. Yes, I whined inside. Did I love it anyway? Sadly, yes. Will I go back? Uh, yeah.
Can I walk? No. Get up off the chair without clenching my teeth and sucking in a breath of “oh crap, that hurts?” No. I can't wait to hike the stairs from our apartment tomorrow.
Pain, pain, go away. Come again some other day.