Why I need my own gloves

Sure it’s hard, but I love boxing class at the gym.  We do circuit training, it’s not just hitting the pads for a bit then having a relax.  No, we go hard on the pads, then do squats or lunges or bunny hops or sit ups, push ups, etc, then go hard on the pads again.  Boy do we sweat though!

Sweating is usually a good thing when you’re working out, but when you’re using the gym’s boxing gloves that countless other people have used and you’re sharing them with your boxing partner, sweat is not such a good thing.  When I put my hands into boxing gloves, I expect them to be clean, cold, dry, and if I’m really lucky, smelling like daisies.  Instead, when I put my hands in those boxing gloves, I get wet, warm, sticky fabric clinging to my hands.  When I take my hands out, they stink.  It smells like someone has put the sweat from a hundred people’s butt cracks into one innocent little boxing glove and then left it out in the sun to ferment for a couple of weeks.  Now that stench is clinging to my hands.  I don’t really want to wipe it on my pants because then it will be on my pants.  I wonder how often the gym washes the gloves.  Ewww…..  I think it’s time to buy my own.  Sure, they may still get smelly and hot and sticky, but at least that way, I’ll know it’s only my sweat, and I can wash them as soon as I get home.

I think my arms are going to fall off

I started going to the gym a while back, maybe a month ago.   I’ve been doing a program of weights, then treadmill or cross trainer, followed by the dreaded plank (Pilates move, not a thing), crunches,  and some targeted hip work.  I thought I was doing quite well, getting fit, making progress.  Then I did a boxing class.  I didn’t know I had so many muscles in my arms (not that they’re big, I just mean that my poor excuse for such muscles are part of my anatomy).  I think that maybe, just maybe, my arms will fall off.  That’s what they feel like anyway.  Even my wrists are sore.  Yesterday my arms were shaking while I was trying to do, well, anything.  Pour some milk?  Not very well.  Write a note.  Not that’s legible.   I would prefer to be doing a body combat class, but no one but me ever turned up for that class, so it never actually ran.  Plus I think if I had taken that class, I wouldn’t only feel like my arms are about to fall off, but probably my butt, and legs too.  And maybe my back.  Maybe I’d just feel like I’d turn into a big puddle, and I’d probably look like I sat on some unfortunate large object.  Oh, and just so you aren’t worried about my nose turning into mincemeat, and my ears to cauliflower, the boxing is just a class at my gym, we don’t box each other, just the pads.

On another note, I can finally fit into the one pair of jeans that was tight on me before I got pregnant.  Not that long ago, I couldn’t even get them past my butt.  Now, I can pull them all the way on (mind you, it still takes some maneuvering, but then again, it always has), button them, and actually walk around.  I guess my month of gym work is working after all.

Saturday was The Jess’ hens night, which gave me the perfect opportunity to try something new: Pole dancing.  I can’t say I’m especially graceful, but it was very fun, and surprising hard.

You probably won’t hear from me much this week as it’s the week before The Jess’ wedding, and as Matron of Honour, I still have a lot to do.  Plus I volunteered myself for cake making duties.  That’s right, I’m actually making the wedding cake.  It’s not the first time I’ve made a wedding cake, I made mine too, but someone else decorated mine.  I’m doing the decorating for The Jess’ cake as well as making it from scratch.  Deep breath…wish me luck.

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