My quads are so sore that I'm walking like a robot and hanging on to the railing for dear life every time I go down a flight of stairs. I've been crawling out of my chair every 30 minutes or so to stretch (my officemates are a little puzzled) but it has done very little to unlock the rocks that have taken up residence where my nice, supple muscles used to be. This could make training slightly difficult, especially since tonight I'm in for 90 minutes of one-on-one time with Chief.
We've hit our crazy season at work and my boss had a minor meltdown about my leaving in time to get to class, so for the time being I've switched to twice-weekly private sessions with Chief. Ultimately this is a good thing, but his sessions are far more difficult than his classes.
Chief: I always feel like my classes are harder because we do a lot of jumpsquats and burpees. I don't usually make anyone do those in session.
Me: True, but I still think the sessions are harder because they're tailored to my weak points. At least in class, there are some things that come a *little* more easily.
Chief: Heh. Guess I never thought about it that way. Put your gloves on.
Anyone who knows me will not be surprised to learn that, in a lot of ways, the mental aspect of Muay Thai is far more challenging to me than the physical; Chief is after me constantly to get out of my head, to stop thinking and analyzing and just do. The thing I struggle with the most is pressing myself to work not only to my limit, but also just a smidgeon beyond until the limit itself has moved.
Left to my own devices, I'll see my limit coming up ahead and stop a nice safe distance from it. I don't know when I learned to do that and I don't know what I'm afraid will happen if I get there, but some deep-seated instinct stomps on the brakes as soon as that line comes into view. It's like I'm willing to give up 95%, but for some reason I'm clinging desperately to that last 5%. Looking back, I see that this has been a pattern repeated in every area of my life for some time now.
Chief realized this about me roughly 10 minutes into our very first session (before I realized it about myself, truthfully) and has been trying to coax me a little bit closer to my limit ever since; I've fought him every step of the way. Because the man has the kindness and patience of a saint, he just keeps pushing me forward while completely ignoring whatever protestations I've offered. His standard response, delivered invariably with an impish grin, is Do I care? No, I don't care. Begin.
I've now been studying long enough that my session on Monday night was much more of a "standard" session - alternate rounds of strike drills and conditioning drills rather than short drills interspersed with basic technique explanations. Let me tell you: 90 minutes of striking and conditioning is no joke, especially when the holidays have kept you away from the gym for a couple of weeks - I was "done" less than 45 minutes in.
Here's the thing: During a private session, there's nowhere to hide. Even though the classes at our gym are usually less than ten people and Chief has eyes in the back of his head, I can still slow down or pause for a brief minute here and there. Not so when it's just the two of us, and doubly not so when we're the only two people in the entire gym. I have to keep going until I'm physically incapable of doing so; there are no other options.
Monday night was the first night that I cried at the gym.
About halfway through an exercise designed to strengthen both my balance and the muscles in the back of my legs, my legs felt like they were on fire and my arms were shaking from holding myself up. I dropped my leg in defeat and Chief simply asked me Did you hear the bell? Of course, I hadn't. But I'd seen that limit coming and I was doing everything in my power not to get any closer to it. When Chief came over to adjust my position so that I could begin again, to get my knee just a fraction of an inch higher, I simply dissolved into tears. Tears of anger at him for making me do it, tears of frustration at myself for not being able to do it "perfectly", tears of exhaustion, tears of pain, tears of fear. So I cried, and I clenched my fists around the bag, and I kept going until that stupid bell rang, goddamnit.
I have seen the limit. I have surpassed it. And I have survived! (Apart from the quad muscles, anyway.)
Onward, then, because that line just keeps moving farther and farther out.
