Ever lifted a kettlebell? A Russian, Girevoy style kettlebell, not the little ones hitting the American mass markets, that is. It’s a cannonball with a handle, created with the sole purpose of
torturing training thoroughly insane super motivated people. I HATE LOVE my kettlebells. No really, I mean it. It is the perfect example of a love-hate relationship. I love, love, love the workout. I hate the way they kick my butt.
I began my Love/Hate relationship with Kettlebells in July of 2010. I was looking for something different to shake up my workouts. I was researching a local boxing gym where I saw they also specialized in Russian style kettlebell training. Always up for something new, I signed up for a class on a hot July afternoon and was instantly hooked. It kicked my butt. I don’t think I had sweated that much before in my life. I am a strong girl. Freakishly strong, actually. I have always been able to lift heavier than any other females I knew … and quite a few men. (It was a running joke in my single, dating years that my #1 qualification in a man was that he would be stronger than me.) What surprised me the most about the workout was how cardiovascular it was. At that time I was running 3-4 days a week for 2-5 miles each outing. I was at the gym 6 days per week alternating treadmill, stair master and elliptical. My ticker was in pretty good shape. Kettlebell? Had me positively gasping. And I liked that … a lot.
I have stuck with KB since. I did have to take a substantial amount of time off when I broke my leg, but I still spent a fair amount of time sitting in a chair, performing military presses with the KB even then. It’s been nearly 3 years since I first picked one up, and through all my tragedies and trials, weight gain and frustration, the KB has been my most consistent therapy. I have competed, I have lifted longer and heavier than people half my age. I have been a kettlebell swinging fool.
Why am I talking about this? Well, in today’s class there was a girl. Not a new girl … I had seen her at the gym, she’s been in a few of the other classes I take, but she is not a regular Monday Noon class attender. She is in great shape and I know she is a decent boxer. Very friendly, very outgoing, very nice …
But dang her … she acted like I was a newbie. In MY class. I know WHY she acted like I was a newbie … ‘cuz I am a big fat blob right now. It didn’t matter that my 18kg bell seriously trumped her 14kg bell and that my form was better and my pace was even with hers, even with my heavier bell. What she saw was an out of shape old lady. And I do not blame her. It is exactly what I see every time I look in the mirror, too. Awfully hard not to. But my pride was damaged. Probably needed a good denting, this old pride of mine. I am hoping the denting will help with the determination I am going to need to lose the weight that I want to lose. God knows I need all the help, motivation, inspiration I can get.
Not only do I want to be inspirational, I want to look like I know what I am talking about. I want the fit girl inside of me to be visible on the outside. I know all this stuff, but it is knowledge that is rendered useless by the puffy facade I have been wearing. Time to shed the stay puff marshmallow suit and reveal those muscles that are still there … just covered in down. Covered in FAT. I am over being the fat girl. I am not a newbie!