Sometimes we have a bad day. All of us have experienced it--those maddening, hair-rippingly, infuriating days when everything is wrong and nothing is right and you've just had it. I believe Alexander calls it the terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.
That was my Monday. Justin was away, work kicked my butt, several little wedding details unraveled, I forgot to eat lunch, and before I knew it, I was spiraling. I needed an outlet. A release. A purging of this nonsense.
I found it in a boxing class. Yup. My gym offers a boxing class once a week, and luckily, it was Monday nights. Couldn't be more perfect. I went home, changed into gym clothes, and stomped over to my gym.
My fiance is a big tough manly man who boxed quite seriously in high school. And I love Rocky. So I assumed that because Justin and Rocky could do it, I was going to be a natural. A pro.
Well, class started off a bit rough--we jump-roped to get started and, you know, to be honest, I don't remember jump-roping being so dang hard! I kept garrotting myself on my rope and smacking the back of neck with it. Fun times. My rage only increased. After 5 minutes of jumping torture, we started sparring. Yeah, baby! This is where it's at. 50 minutes of beating into boxing mitts as hard as possible is fun. And exhausting. By the end of class, my arms were shaking and my fingers numb.
Cut to the next morning. Ehh...getting out of bed...not so easy! Taking a shower and washing my hair....not so easy! Walking down the subway stairs? Downright laughable.
Cut to the second morning. Complete fossilization has occurred. Cannot move more than 1 mph and can barely sit down. Torture!
But you better believe that come next Monday--if I am recovered, which at this point is a big IF--I will be back. And if I ever meet Alexander, I will pass along my new discovery for bad-day management.
Maybe I will get a pair of pink gloves, like these to maintain my ladylike daintyness. What would Rocky do??
Punching things feels good.
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