Nitty Gritty Dirty Grief

Kickin’ some a**

Yeah, that’s right….that’s me…kickin‘ a little backside……totally.

When my parents got divorced, my dad mentioned that he would go to TWO aerobics classes a day and do everything in double time. I love my dad but sometimes he isn’t very coordinated. Single time might be a stretch….I can only imagine two hours a day of double-time aerobics in tube socks and bad 1980’s shorts.

But I get it.

Physical activity is one of the only things that makes me feel good….really good, like someday I might be somewhat whole good.

You would think I would do it more often.

But I don’t.

Go figure.

So today, I was contemplating attending a 5:30 class at they gym OR watching Seinfeld reruns and having a glass of wine.

Surprisingly, I found myself at the gym…..go me!

I went to a Body Combat class which combines kickboxing, karate and boxing. I laughed at the thought of this class. I have never gone; I’m not a fighter I’m a lover….but I needed a good cardio workout to clear my head.

Holy Schmoly. I was doing front kicks, side kicks, back kicks….the whole time I thought about kicking grief’s hiney…..take that you self-involved emotion, hiya!– you partner to depression, loneliness and isolation….that’s right, right in the kisser…..bastard.

I got so focused I almost started to cry which was problematic because kickboxing kicks your entire body and your can’t breathe. Crying and not breathing is a bad thing.

But wow I felt good. Like 007 secret agent good.

But don’t critique my punches. Despite giving Grief a good whooping with my kicks, I still punch like a girl. My girlie punches make me laugh they are so girlie.

The instructor came over to work on my arms.

“Focus on everything coming from your middle; from your center. All of your power is generated in your center,” She said as she tried to correct my oh-so-ladylike arms.

My center, my core, my power….Why yes, everything, everything is coming right from there.

I looked at my focused reflection in the mirror; her determination, her sadness, her eyes glossy from tears and sweat and I gave my grief a stellar left hook.

8 thoughts on “Kickin’ some a**”

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