The Defiance of Climbing a Rope
In an effort to address that whole fat thing (previously discussed here), I recently signed up for Boot Camp on base. It’s always been far easier for me to address weight loss through exercise (ie. COP OUT!), so imagine my surprise when upon handing over my $125, they promptly handed back a food journal. Well played, bitches, well played.
Despite that unwelcome addition to my boot camp experience, I’ve still been relatively excited about this whole kicking my ass thing. I’ve literally nursed one nagging injury after another since my last half marathon. ALMOST TWO YEARS AGO!! It’s been a significant factor in my weight gain and my weight brain. I question my ability to perform now, whether my body will allow me to do basic activities, and that self doubt is crushing. The whole thing is exhausting, and ongoing, but hot yoga ain’t cutting it. The danger of depression is too real, so I am prepared to tape, ice, Bio-Freeze, and ibuprofen myself in to a happy haze of pain denial to get through this Boot Camp.
I was feeling pretty good after Monday’s session and work travel blessedly saved me from flipping tires during Wednesday’s version of hell. But, upon being told it was “highly recommended” that we bring gloves and long socks to today’s class, I got scared. A friend on Facebook called the obvious…
“Sounds like someone is doing rope climbs.” GULP.
In our nightly chat on his way home from work, my husband, quite excited about my pending adventure, proceeded to “talk me through it”. As a visual learner, know what I got from that explanation? NOTHING! “It’s easy once you figure out your feet” wasn’t helping instill confidence. This morning, taking my visual learning needs in to consideration, he tried to demonstrate using our throw blanket as the rope. Mmmm hmmm. Lessons learned?
- My husband prefers to do it the hard way because he has monkey arms.
- I would far prefer to climb up my throw blanket.
Fast forward to Boot Camp. Trying to channel my pre-fat, pre-injured confident self, I volunteered to go first. I snaked my foot around the rope, said a baby prayer not to bust my ass, and pulled. And it worked!! Like, holy shit, that foot thing is for reals! I was shaking like a leaf, and I’m fairly certain I could have touched the ground if I let my feet go, but irrelevant! Two more attempts and I made it 2/3 of the way up. It didn’t hurt that our coach promised a bottle of wine to whomever made it to the top. I mean, motivation is motivation people.
It’s been a long time since I felt like a bad ass. A great many months since I’ve felt physical accomplishment. Too long since I’ve been proud of myself.
Climbing a rope is something my husband does. And now, it’s something I’ve done too.
I will climb to the top of that rope before Boot Camp is over. I have to. It’s my defiance. Aaaaaaand, there’s a bottle of wine waiting for me. ;)
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