I’m the first to admit it; I’ve gone rather soft and sedentary since high school. What used to be a capable strong body slowly deteriorated into good hugs and lots of partying, usually accompanied by carb-laden food and quality banter, which is sadly not actually a thing that burns calories. My friends on the other hand, have remained infuriatingly gorgeous LuluLemon-encrusted examples of strength, grace and health. And it’s starting to get tiresome being the lazy one that doesn’t want to go for a 45 minute walk before our coffee date thankyouverymuch.

Being a student has only solemnly reminded me just how shit I am at walking up any semblance of a gentle incline, and so I decided that I would become one of the fitness elite.

With the eager guidance of my super-fit lifelong friend, I went for a free trial Crossfit class. The day rolled around and I was scared shitless. As an aside, I really needed to enjoy this, because if not then I’d find a way to talk myself out of it (I once talked myself out of a BodyPump class when I was already there and had set up my bench). Plus, what the shit was I going to be able to do? Six starjumps followed by 1 x rep of a stroke?

9.15am approached and I got myself down to the CrossFit box. Unsure of what the hell to do, I stood there nervously while people with actual muscles did fit people things, like jogging with ease. The instructor, Suzie, was super nice and explained some of the things to me, assuring me I’d be okay. She kindly let me select the smallest step-up box, explaining that it was fine to do the step ups without dumbbells if I wanted to.

After a warmup that is probably easy for regular people yet left me red and sweaty, we started with skipping, which is something that I hadn’t attempted since primary school, when jump rope and MySpace was all the rage. Unbelievably, I could still do this, opting for single skips in order to save my boobs, which it seemed were determined to escape the clutches of my bra. Fuck you, boobs. Mental note to self: Get better bras on payday or merely invest in some duct tape.

We moved from skipping to “back squats,” which Suzie generously let me do with no barbell. Discovering that I could actually do squats properly was a revelation, my first anointment into the Halls of the Fitness Elite. We also had to step over boxes holding dumbbells, and I saw no shame in having the smallest box by at least 50%. Character-building, I thought to myself. A lesson in humility. I actually finished the WOD (workout of the day) and left feeling amazing. Exhausted, but AMAZING. I spent the rest of the day looking at recipes involving wholemeal spaghetti and spinach. No, really. I also treated myself to the following: flossing before bed, and more water than usual. #newbodywhodis

Getting out of bed the next day was a struggle. Walking up the stairs was a struggle. Walking down the stairs was a struggle. I wore my muscle burn as a badge of honour. “Oh, no it’s okay,” I assured the judgmental girl that glared at me as I took the lift up a measly two floors. “I have sore legs from CrossFit”, I added proudly, wielding a banana within eyesight (see? I’m health personified, bitch). At lunchtime, I spent time peering out at some brave people who were doing a really cringey-looking free exercise class on the uni lawn. It’s no CrossFit, I thought smugly as I struggled to sit down at my computer. Jeez, one class and I’m already one of those Crossfit assholes. Will I continue? Maybe.

Love Akika xoxoxooxxo