Recently a friend of mine decided to show how much he disliked me by taking me along to his kick boxing class.

As a preface to this story I would like to point out that I am in no way physically fit. The only time I get any exercise is when I am running to the subway and when I am shopping the sales. (You’d be surprised how much of a work out a day of shopping can be!) So when Bauke asked me to join him at his Muay Thai Kick Boxing class, I probably should have said no.

The class it self was amazing, I could see why people get into it and the instructors were fantastic! I, however, am weak and was panting like a dehydrated dog five minutes into the warm up.

The gym, located by my favorite shopping destination Jingan Temple, offers Muay Thai Kick Boxing and Yoga classes. Everyone there spoke English; they were incredibly attentive to the fat girl (aka me) and definitely gave me the work out I paid for. By the end it felt more like they gave me two workouts for the price of one but this was one sale I didn’t want to take advantage of.

They started the class by having everyone jump rope. I should have figured at this point that I wasn’t going to be able to compete with the lot semi professional athletes in the beginner’s class. Before the class even started people were getting the jump ropes and jumping. The teachers hadn’t even started the class! Being the excellent student that I am, I chose to wait for my instructor to instruct. No need to put that extra effort in!

But eventually watching everyone else jump rope I caved in and started before the teacher. Even the kid in the back of the room can’t slack off all the time.

After the jump rope a variety of warm up activities were conducted which made me sweat like a fat man in the south. My mystic tan was SO not having it.

After about 30 minutes of warming up we started the actual exercises! THIRTY MINUTES!!!! I was nearly dead on the floor with a heart attack at that point.

I partnered up with a small Chinese girl who I figured I could handle.

Well I figured wrong. The girl was fierce. She punched like Tyson and kicked like a Rockette. I was hurting! That and I couldn’t remember the combinations so I would never move the pads in time for one of her upper cuts or knee hit things. Not only was I failing miserably as a Kick Boxing champ but also I was not letting my Karate Kid partner live up to her potential.

I apologized profusely for sucking as a partner but she shrugged and acted like it didn’t bother her. The irritation in her breath said otherwise.

After the kicking part was the cool down part… don’t let the name fool you.

Crunches, twists, stretch… I was exhausted and the amount of sweat bleeding out of my pores was absurd. I had long kissed my mystic tan good bye.

Finally the class was over and chubby ness was able to escape to the comfort of my shower. I thought the pain was over. I thought the serene tranquility of my apartment and Sex and the City DVDs would let me fall right into my old patterns: Eating Mac and Cheese while doing nothing!

It wasn’t until I woke up Sunday morning that I realized how much pain this class was really costing me. I couldn’t walk, I couldn’t bend, I couldn’t sit, I couldn’t stand. My entire body was protesting my participation in exercise. People in Berkeley sit in trees; I turn against myself and deny my joints the ability to bend.

It wasn’t until the following WEDNESDAY (I took the class Saturday afternoon) that I was able to laugh about my excruciating pain with only a slight sensation of the residual pain.

Needless to say though, I would do it again.