Impulsive and stupid. If there were ever two things that don’t go together, it’s them right there.
Five weeks ago, in no more than three seconds, I combined these two traits in spectacular fashion.
I was training solo with Nate. Vuitton Lou and Barbie weren’t there that day, they were off somewhere fabulous, like not at the gym. I don’t even remember what Nate and I were doing; probably some of our usual Eastern European dance moves. Certainly nothing that would make me stop and say, in a random, conversational manner, nine words that I could never, ever take back.
“We haven’t done Death by Kettlebell for a while.”
Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit!
What the hell is wrong with me? Of all of the spectacularly self-sabotaging, irresponsible things I could have said, this would have to top the list. And I’ve said a few. From We’ll do whatever you tell us, Nate to Do you want to do an ocean swim with me? to Two Spartan races in one day? How hard can that be?
But this, this was above and beyond all of these.
What had I done? What had I done? Why had I done? Death by Kettlebell is the only thing that makes me break out in a sweat before I’ve even started. It’s the only thing that’s reduced me to real tears. It’s the only thing that makes me question my blind acceptance of whatever Nate’s devised for me to do.
It’s a mystery to me why kettlebells are so much harder than other weights. It’s a mystery to me where kettlebells even came from. Weren’t dumbbells and barbells enough? In fact, weren’t step classes, treadmill machines and grapevines enough? When did we all start messing with this nonsense of fancy shmancy airdynes and prowlers and Olympic lifting and monster rubber bands?
So, a breakdown of DBK. Take two kettlebells and four to five exercises. Find a clear position on the gym floor – say a square metre. Then go for a bazillion sets of a million reps, or, alternatively, until you collapse in a screaming heap of tears, sweat, curses, frustration and exhaustion. Whatever comes first.
The girls were going to kill me.
I stood there, dumbfounded, wondering if it was possible to haul time backwards and erase what I’d said. Nate, bless him, continued doing whatever it is personal trainers do in between exercises, and said simply “No. We haven’t.”
That’s all he said.
Three weeks passed. I said nothing to Lou and Barbie of my transgression. I watched every move Nate made with a careful wary eye. Another week passed, and I thought perhaps I’d gotten away with it. We trained, we laughed, and life settled.
I completely forgot I’d ever said anything.
On Wednesday it was Nate’s birthday. We made the usual suggestion, that perhaps we could go out to breakfast instead of training. Everybody wins. But no, Nate wanted to train us.
“Perhaps we could finish early,” suggested Lou, “and take you for coffee?”
“OK,” he agreed, “we’ll do a half hour session.”
Well, that’s dangerous for a start. Because when he says ‘we’ll do a half hour session’, we still do a full hour session, it’s just compressed into 30 minutes.
“Back room,” he said, “hurry up.” Barbie clambered up from the floor and we trailed behind him, gossiping, laughing, swinging our towels.
Nate was already writing up the session by the time we straggled in, his scratchy chicken writing filling the white board. We continued talking as he began collecting equipment. Eventually I turned to the board.
“Ok, squats with the kettlebells,” I muttered, reading down the list, “swings, double kettlebells, thrusters….” my voice trailed as it suddenly dawned on me, “hey, wait, hang on a minute,” my voice got higher, panicked, as I swung around to Nate, “this is Death by Kettlebell!”
Nate paused where he had begun laying kettlebells in a row across the gym floor. His eyes were sparkling with delight as he watched the realisation wash across my face.
“Yes it is,” he said gleefully, “happy birthday to me.”
Barbie sank to the floor. Lou started whimpering. I just stared at the kettlebells, my face averted from my own teammates lest they see the guilt in my eyes. At that point we were three against one. They didn’t know this was all my fault.
We lined up at the kettlebells, bolstering each other by hurling insults at Nate. When we realised nothing was going to work, we went silent and the personal strategising began. Because the goal of Death by Kettlebell is survival. And the game plan is to employ every single trick in your arsenal in order to make it through to the other side.
Round one I simply pretended it wasn’t happening. I powered through on the fear of being found out and the energy I still had because I hadn’t used any energy yet.
Round two and all three of us chose wicked songs to fuel us through to the end of the round. We were still sisters. I was still safe.
I was feeling it by round three. It wasn’t only my lungs singing; my legs were trembling, my arms wavering alarmingly as I thrust kettlebells into the air. Beside me I could feel Barbie doing the same. She was still with me. She still didn’t know that this was all my fault.
Nate yelled across at Lou for a song choice, Lou yelled back that she didn’t care. She was doing it tough if she didn’t care about the music. And she still didn’t know that this was all my fault.
Round four began and I considered doing four reps, pausing, banging out another four, then another two. I considered putting the kettlebells down for a rest between the cleans and the swings. I thought about how much better my form would be if I just took a moment. I knew I was perfectly within my rights to pause between reps, take a breath and gather energy. Nate even said so.
Unfortunately, this is where I went horribly, terribly wrong. Because overriding all of the counting and the meaningless promises and the Love Really Hurts Without You was the thought that kept running through my mind. Just get it done.
Get. It. Done.
All I could focus on was that moment when I could finally end this insanity. So there were no pauses, no broken sets. There was no begging for mercy, no storming out of the room, no tears. I completed every fucking exercise, over and over and over, without stopping.
And let me be absolutely clear about this. I didn’t push through because I’m strong and invincible. Hell no. It was because I wanted so, so desperately for it all to just be over so I could let go of those damn kettlebells and crash to the ground.
And crash to the ground we all did, in an untidy, smelly, wet mess, legs and arms akimbo, faces planted into the rubber.
It must have been so pleasant for Nate to sit with us twenty minutes later over a birthday coffee.
Serves him right.
And I’m fully aware that up until now Lou and Barbie have been oblivious to my hand in all of this. All I can say is perhaps this is the last time they’ll leave me alone with Nate while they’re off somewhere fabulous.
Like not at the gym.
Accidental Adventures 