Last week I read I Married a Misanthrope on Salon and the sad part was I recognized myself in the woman's description of her husband. It's not that I don't like people, it's that people used to make me feel very, very afraid. Which brings me to today's post. There's no death. It just feels like that sometimes.
Okay, so this morning I put on my clingy spandex clothes and drove over to the local gym for a workout. I'm not a fitness fanatic or anything. I just want to keep the middle age spread, caused by sitting at a desk and typing (okay, internet surfing with bursts of writing), at bay. It's not just a body thing, it's an "I can't afford five new pairs of pants" thing.
Thursday's boot camp teacher is young, tattooed, peppy and very limber. Her class is always packed because of her magical ability to get us to do crazy amounts of wall walks or frog jumps. For some reason, we don't mind the twenty-fifth burpee or weighted squat too much. Her chipper demeanor helps.
|This is a wall walk. The orange bucket is for when you need to vomit. I'm kidding.|
But today was a different story. I wanted to walk out of class before it even began. Why? Because our happy-go-lucky leader decided that we might get more out of the workout if we paired up with a partner.
For most people, getting paired up with a partner is not a big deal. For me, well, I'll just say, "I'm a loner, Dottie. A rebel." (A cookie for you if you get the movie reference.) I've got Social Anxiety. Thankfully, I went through Cognitive Behavioral Therapy a few years ago and I now know how to do battle with it, but today was a struggle. For one, we had to pair up with someone near our height. So, that meant I had to pair up with a dude. A dude that I didn't know. And I had to be in close proximity to him and sweat all over him because my body is really good at cooling off. My knee began to ache. I could have easily just bailed and blamed my knee. But I knew it was a lie.
Social Anxiety will make you an expert at blaming everything in your environment for the discomfort. The cure is to just rush forth and do the junk that freaks you out, while asking yourself, "What's the worst thing that could happen?" I can usually think of lots of things, but now I rush forth anyway.
So, Brian and I planked and twisted and box jumped and I didn't die. And now next week, I will see Brian and I can say, "Hi Brian. Man, last week kicked my butt." We'll smile and nod and next time we get paired up again it won't be so weird.
So, what freaks you out?