The owner has three kids who are all superstar athletes and students, a husband who is mainly overseas and I think they own a pig and a horse too. Her hands are full, I understand. (personally I wish she had one normal kid and then maybe she wouldn't be so busy.) I get it, I just don't want to get it.
I am so sad thinking about finding another place to work out at. It won't be Lifetime - I have never been as out of shape as I was when we belonged there. Too many distractions. Where am I going to go where no one cares what I am dressed in? No one cared at Punch and the people who did care didn't last there long. We didn't coordinate or even match most days. Even worse, where am I going to find a group of people who boost each other up and push each other to be better each time? I kid my friend Karen about being a kettlebell bully, but she is the nicest bully and our friendly competition pushed me into weights I never thought I could swing. There was encouragement and support, always, from classmates. It was just unspoken - you help the clueless (me for the first five months), you praise everyone's accomplishments and you leave your pettiness at the door. We got to know each other, we got to see each other's kids and we got to care. We became a Punch family. Well, all except for sweaty, naked guy and he left when they told him he had to wear a shirt in class. Oh, and the stalker intern guy who they knew better than to hire. I am sure he is watching women in an alley as I type this.
Sigh, and the trainers. Three years I have seen a bunch of trainers come and go. It happens in the gym world. Each time I thought this new trainer wouldn't be as good as the last one. I was wrong - they were all as good, just in different ways. They have encouraged, pushed and shaped me into being stronger, being confident and being so damn proud of what I can accomplish there. The current trainer refuses to accept that I fear box jumps and while he won't get me to jump on a higher one, he has made me do creative jumps onto the lower one. I hate him and appreciate him at the same time. Log press? Yep. Ridiculous dead lift? Yep. Done, done, done.
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| 85 pounds of crazy heavy right there. |
I wish that all good things did not have to come to an end. I wish I was independently wealthy and could keep Punch up and running. I wish I was one of those people who could work out on their own and stay in shape. I could do the workouts on my own, but I have been known to substitute easier things or nothing when no one is watching. Sandbagger, I believe I am called in gym terms. Eventually I will find somewhere new to go and I hope it can be half the place that Punch was. Sigh.
Thank you Punch Kettlebell. Thank you for running a groupon I could afford and getting me hooked on kettlebells. Thank you for encouraging me when all I could press was a 4kg and later for telling me that pressing the log was fine but next time add some weight to it. Thank you for making me flip tires, swing sledgehammers and run with sleds up and down that stinky alley. Thank you for laughing with me, for ignoring my complaints and for pushing, endlessly pushing me to do my best. Thank you for the trainers who cared and thank you for letting the ones who didn't care go. Thank you for the laughs. Thank you for the fun. Thank you for muscles that ache three days after a workout. Thank you for being my therapy and for bringing such strong women and men together. Thank you for the strength and confidence you have given me. Thank you for finally agreeing to never play Jock Jams again. You will not be replaced and you will be most sorely missed.
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