I had decided, today was the day I was going to try my first class. I checked the website one last time to make sure when the class started and that it was a beginners’ class. 5:30 – ok, so I was right…
But wait, one schedule on the website says it is a beginners’ class, and the other says it is not.
Well, I am already dressed, might as well just go. It really could be a total shit show either way.
I drive into the parking lot and struggle to find a place to park.
It’s packed.
Maybe the parking lot is just small. It seems a little small…
The fear is beginning to bubble up in my gut, but I push it down, find a parking spot, and walk in. The heat of summer day is intensified inside the place. The doors swing shut behind me and I can feel the sweat and humidity envelop me like a cloud as I walk up to the front desk. The girl sitting behind the desk looks at me with a blank stare – probably waiting for me to give her some membership number or do what people do when they walk into this place.
The air in this place is electric. It is hot, damp, and loud. There are people all over, kids, moms with their kids, big beefy guys, and women, all either waiting for their class to start or in class themselves. I look over to the right and I can see in one of the rooms a class going on. People are drenched in sweat, the floor looks glossy and dangerous, and puddles are all over the mats as sweat pours off the people’s faces.
Hi.. umm… I’m here to try out a class….umm…. it’s my first class. I signed up online for the free trial.
Oh, ok. No problem. Her face softens and she smiles she hands over a clipboard with a piece of paper and asks for my ID.
The class is at 5:30, it’s a beginners’ class, right?
She looks quickly at the schedule, she furrows her brow and is about to respond…
I checked online… it’s weird, the grid schedule says it is NOT a beginners class, but when I scrolled down, the other schedule said it was…
I don’t think it is a beginners’ class. She looks over my shoulder and sees the person she is looking for and shouts over my head and across the gym… HEY AARON, are you guys using shin guards in class today?
No, no shin guards today…
Oh, ok.. thanks, she replies to who must be Aaron Peet, one of the class instructors listed on the schedule.
She looks back at me, you should be fine she says to me with a little smile.
Or is it a smirk?
It could be a smirk.
Is she fucking with me? Please, god, don’t let her be fucking with me…
As I fill out the paper, she asks for my date of birth and phone number and busily types my info into the computer. At least, I think she is typing; I can’t see her fingers on the keyboard, nor can I hear her typing; it is so loud. People busily check in beside me, scanning little key fobs as they walk in. One guy checks in and nods at her, and she leaves her typing for a second to grab a set of gloves and hands them to the guy checking in beside me.
Thanks.
Yeah, sure, no problem.
She returns to my paperwork as I hand the clipboard back to her. I am not sure what I signed, I didn’t read it, but it is probably a waiver that says I can’t sue them if I get hurt or die while at their place of business. Pretty routine stuff for a place like this.
…She returns to my paperwork as I hand the clipboard back to her. I am not sure what I signed, I didn’t read it, but it is probably a waiver that says I can’t sue them if I get hurt or die while at their place of business. Pretty routine stuff for a place like this.
Do you need gloves? She asks, after putting my name in the computer system.
Umm… yeah. I guess. It’s my first class. She goes to the back and comes to the counter with a set of small boxing gloves.
There are wraps over there you can buy if you need them.
Seriously, what does she not understand about THIS IS MY FIRST CLASS? WRAPS?
…and what the hell are wraps?
Thanks. I tell her.
I take the gloves from her and smile.
I make my way over to the room where everyone is warming up for the Muay Thai kickboxing class and a primal fear starts in my solar plexus, right under my sternum, what had been excited butterflies now changes into a form of deep dread.
Fear.
I feel…fear.
If I could look in the mirror if I were hooked up to some ER monitoring system, I bet I would see my pupils dilate, my breathing becomes rapid and shallow, and my heartbeat ticks up just a smidge. My body is preparing itself for flight or fight, but the wrong kind of fight. My reptilian brain, my tiny little pea-sized amygdala at the center of my brain, is sending out SOS signals like the Titanic and trying to search all its resources to assess the threat level.
Oh. My. God. This is what I must have felt like as a kid going to school for the first time. Or my first swim practice. My first rodeo. My first…anything.
The fact that I am having these thoughts makes me realize 2 things.
One. I ask my students to feel this all the time when I ask them to get out of their comfort zones, and I probably, no, I actually, do not respect this feeling and them enough to stop and acknowledge it, beyond a perfunctory, I-know-you-are-scared,-but-it-will-be-ok comment.
Two. I need to get out more. I haven’t felt this in a long time, and I probably should. I have been taking classes online, doing yoga from home, and doing writers’ workshops on Zoom… all of which are safe ways to get out of your comfort zone, which is situational irony and oxymoronic all wrapped into one. I was deluding myself. My comfort zone had not really been violated, but today in this gym, I am so far outside of it that I can’t even see it anymore, and if I am being honest. Diving into the fear feels… exhilarating.
Or maybe the heat and humidity in this place make me feel lightheaded.
I immediately see what the wraps are for. People around the room bobbing up and down, bouncing their bodies side to side. They look like they are using invisible jump ropes, and some of them are carefully and artfully wrapping their hands in these long strips of cotton. Like an ace bandage but way longer and thinner.
I will not be punching anything very hard, I should be fine. I think to myself, and I, too, start bobbing up and down. Invisible jump roping with some high knees and a few hamstring stretches thrown in for good measure.
Just look busy. Look like you belong here.
I stick to the back corner of the class as the warriors make their way in and start filling up the center of the mat. Short, tall, young, old, men, women, they are all here, and they all have this look about them. Like they know what they are doing. The pressure is rising in my chest again.
To be continued…