Tabata is like labour.

As soon as it is over, you forget the pain and dream of going through it all over again... until you're in the middle of it, then you think 'WHY THE EFF AM I DOING THIS TO MYSELF---AGAIN?!' only with labour you get a beautiful screaming ball of goo. At least with Tabata you can go home and sleep.

Today was insane. INSANE.

I thought about this class all week. I debated going to it. I even verbally harassed myself for being a wuss, for giving up on myself and for letting a little 45 minute class get into my head. I clearly felt peer pressured and bullied into attending. I am worth more than succumbing to a Tabata class, hmpf.

I was late to class... silly work getting in the way of my fitness goals. I got the last spot in the back corner, not my typical spot--front left. This meant I was surrounded by people and limited on my range. And also I had to suffer the stupidity and smell of those around me. Including the gassy lady directly in front of me. I had to alter some of my movements, at least that's how I defending my slowing reactions to the commanders being yelled at me.

"I can't lunge deeper there is a guy, RIGHT THERE."

" I can't do a full push-up, I have to be on my knees... there just isn't space."

"Suicides? Ha... I'll just march."

Now don't get me wrong, I freaking killed it. I was seeing spots, for goodness sakes. I have never worked so hard to see spots... green and purple ones. I took a second to regroup and got back in.

I will conquer Tabata.

On the upside... I did it. My heart rate has returned to normal, the sweating has stopped and I am still alive... maybe even a little bit more so.

Until next week Tabata, you will haunt my dreams.

xo