I Survived

This morning I finally got around to taking that kickboxing class I wrote about two months ago.

In the past two months, the anger I felt right after the miscarriage got swallowed up by depression, as I was afraid it would. For those who haven't been there, I should explain that depression doesn't equal sadness. There's some sadness in the mix, but for me the main feeling is unrelenting exhaustion, plus mental fogginess.

I know what to do in this state: whatever I can to stay active and connected. But have you ever had one of those dreams where someone is chasing you and you have to run, except that you're running through mud or snow, and despite your best efforts you just keep slowing down? That's how it feels sometimes. Yesterday was about the worst it's ever been. I could feel my body and mind grinding down toward absolute zero.

Needless to say, I haven't exactly been getting much exercise. Not unless you count lifting big mugs of coffee. What possessed me to take a class so clearly beyond my comfort zone (735 calories burned in an hour, they say)? I knew it would kick my ass, and yes, it certainly did. But I knew I had to try, because sometimes an ass kicking is in order. Believe it or not, I mean that in the most compassionate way. Sometimes a grand (and foolish) gesture is exactly what I need to shake things up.

Not only was the class a challenge, but it was also out of character for me. I'm more a yoga-and-pilates type who likes to take walks in the woods. With each punch, I saw the red thread that's tied around my wrist, representing the Buddhist three refuges. The incongruity made me laugh. Then I thought of what I learned the other day: a red thread can also be an infertility symbol. With that thought, my taking the class no longer seemed funny or strange. I wanted to smash things.

So in that safe and imaginary context, I beat on infertility. I punched the OB who just sent a bill for our useless "follow-up" appointment: the equivalent of three hours' pay for me, for five minutes of his time. I threw a right hook at my ex, and a kick to everyone who ever asked when I was going to have kids, "since you’re not getting any younger!"

After unleashing all that stuff, I was exhausted, totally spent. "Alright!" the teacher yelled. "That finishes our warm-up!"

CAN we do it??

Haha, OMG, what have I gotten into here? I sucked down more water and somehow dredged up more energy. My goal was just to finish the class. It didn't matter if I had to modify some of the moves—the point was to keep moving.

That much I could manage to do. Will I do it again? We'll see. First I'd better make sure that I can still move tomorrow. Meanwhile, if the class blew a few cobwebs out of my body and mind today, I'll be very grateful for that.