In an ongoing quest to rediscover my body as more than a soft place for little folks to land, I signed up for a thai boxing class last week. It all started with an innocent looking flier a few months ago slipped inside the local paper. There she was. A muscled lean looking woman with her arm outstretched, hands wrapped for a fight, a look of intense concentration and power on her face. Below her the promise "Lean & Fit in 10 Weeks."
I started doing the math. 10 weeks. That’s hardly any time at all. That’s a bad haircut grown out, or time between bikini waxes when I’m trying to save money. That’s the time it took me to find out I was pregnant with twins ‘lo those many muscle-ruining moons ago.
Nevermind that I cannot walk swiftly up stairs without getting winded. Nevermind that my preferred life stance is one of lounging cynicism and parenting from the couch. It’s not really about weight (because who has the courage to weigh herself anymore?). It’s more about that woman in the picture. She’s well over 30, tough, hot, and intense.
I want to be her. I want to be lean and fit and ready to fight more than my inner couch potato.