You Gotta Start Somewhere

Newbs are the bravest.

Photo by Ray Shrewsberry on Unsplash

A lovely thing happened at the local boutique fitness studio where I work part-time. Yesterday morning was the first of the five weekly “Starter Sweat” classes I am teaching. The owner of the studio, my friend Jaime, came up with the wonderful idea for this series of classes with her business coach. “It’s, like, a course for people who are returning to fitness, looking to get back into a workout routine, or wanting to add in strength training,” she explained to me. “And you are the perfect instructor for it.”

I could have replied, “Oh my gosh, no. These women are way too vulnerable and I’m scared that I’ll do something wrong and turn them off from fitness.”

I could have replied, “This is a great idea, but I’ve never worked with newbs before. What if they hate the class? Or me? I can’t do it.”

I could have replied, “No thanks, not for me. What if the class is too hard? What if the class is too easy? What if they don’t like my music? What if they don’t like strength training?”

Instead, I replied, “Awesome. What a great idea. I’m in!”

I never set out to become a fitness instructor. In fact, I hated working out for most of my life. I was always the last to be picked for a team in gym class. I clung to the bottom rung of varsity tennis and squash in high school because my private school was very small, I was too old for JV, I had just enough skill, and it looked good on my college applications. I was a runner in my 20s, not because I loved it, but because it was the most inexpensive and accessible way to stay in shape in Manhattan. I started strength training in my late 20s to prep for my wedding, so that my arms wouldn’t look flabby in my strapless wedding gown. And then, in my early and mid-30s, as I navigated early motherhood and bought into wine mom culture to ease my loneliness and boredom*, exercise was a sporadic form of punishment for yet another hangover or to get my “pre-baby body” back. [SPOILER ALERT: I never got it back. I couldn’t get it back. Once we have a baby, my friends, we are forever in a post-baby body. Our bodies are miracle-making machines, and our scars and stretch marks should carry no shame. But that’s a post for another day.]

Then I found kickboxing—which I almost never tried, because I was a weenie wine mom who was too full of self-loathing to use a coupon for a free class. But the manager of the MMA gym where my kids were Tiny Dragons offered to extend the coupon for another week, and I finally garnered enough guts to go.

Even though I had no idea what I was doing and my hamstrings seized up in my first squat, I loved kickboxing immediately. Punching and kicking the crap out of a heavy bag was the most fun and cathartic form of movement I had ever tried. I was hooked.

I soon loved kickboxing so much that I didn’t want to drink my precious sauvignon blanc the night before one of my thrice-weekly classes because I wanted to feel my best. My inner voice piped up, “Um, if this is what it takes to not drink for a night, maybe you have a little problem with drinking?” I knew she was right. I’d known for years that I struggled with drinking, even though I didn’t present as having a capital-P problem.

Finding a form of movement that I enjoyed was a critical step in finally being honest with myself, and brave enough to start creating the change I needed and deserved.

And I got good at it! So good, in fact, that the owner of the MMA gym asked me to start teaching the very heavy bag kickboxing classes I had been taking. I was nervous AF, but had built up enough self-confidence to give teaching a go. And even though I spent way too much time creating playlists and writing out detailed class plans—especially considering I was only paid $35 for a 45-minute class—I loved it. I loved being creative. I loved having my own thing to do: a professional responsibility with wonderful personal benefits that had nothing to do with my kids. I loved sharing my love of the sport with others. I loved leading a diverse group of people. I loved being the one to give them an endorphin boost. I loved helping people find joy in movement like I had.

Teaching was never easy or comfortable, and that’s exactly why I knew I needed to keep doing it. I needed to stay out of my comfort zone, to challenge myself, to be vulnerable in front of others. Teaching kickboxing strengthened me in every way—physically, mentally, and emotionally. The gig also helped me abandon wine mom culture for good. Being so fit and fulfilled felt too good to screw up by opening a screw-top bottle of vino. I celebrated one year alcohol-free at that MMA gym, posing for a pic in front of a sign near the entrance that read, “Dreams don’t work unless you do.” I never went back to drinking.

The MMA gym closed during COVID. I thought my days of teaching fitness were done, and it made me more sad than I admitted to anyone. In 2021, while the kids were back at school in their face masks, I started going for weekly walks with my friend Jaime. She had become a certified personal trainer and group fitness instructor during the pandemic, and had a dream of opening her own fitness studio. I dreamt of becoming a life and recovery coach to help other women ditch the wine witch like I had. I had maintained my sobriety during COVID, but lost my fitness. I felt great about being alcohol-free, but embarrassed and ashamed that I was so far out of kickboxing shape. Still, Jaime encouraged me to enroll in a coach certification program … and she also asked me to teach at her studio—a huge compliment coming from someone whose drive, vision, and trust in her own intuition amazed me. I couldn’t wimp out again like I did with the MMA class coupon. So I said yes.

I have been teaching at Jaime’s studio for over two years now. In this portfolio career I’m building for myself as a writer-coach-teacher, my work at the studio makes me happy, keeps me out of my comfort zone, and helps me connect in person with friends, acquaintances, and strangers who are all there for similar reasons.

Teaching my first Starter Sweat class was both a lovely full circle moment and the start of something special and new. I felt brave teaching people who are at such a vulnerable point in their fitness journey—and also in awe of their bravery to sign up for the program and show up to class. I told them the story of my first kickboxing class, how nervous-but-excited I was, how my hamstrings seized up and my squat form needed a lot of help, and how it was the start of a new era for me in my relationship with fitness. An era of gratitude, acceptance, and inspired motivation. An era I hope never ends.

I can’t control how these women fare in this series of classes. I have no idea if they will love it or hate it. They may become studio regulars, or never come back. All I can do is show up, impart my knowledge of proper form and technique, and share the joy that I have discovered through getting strong and challenging myself to break through physical and mental barriers that kept me limited for so many years.

After yesterday’s class, I got a text from one of the attendees (who is also a cherished friend of mine). She wrote, “Fantastic class. I feel like you read my brains and found every one of my weak spots and targeted it. I will be lovingly cursing your name as I hobble around tomorrow.”

We are off to a good start.

*I realize this is a fairly loaded aside, especially if you’re new here. To read more about my journey into and out of wine mom culture, click here or here.