This morning I was brought back to a place I never thought I'd have to revisit. 7th grade. No, I didn't wake up with a giant whitehead on the tip of my nose. I didn't have an awkward run-in with a my latest boy crush. And I surely didn't throw on a pair of black, corduroy Unionbay overalls. I skipped, shuffled, and burpeed... 7th grade volleyball practice, take two.
7th grade volleyball marks a monumental time for girl athletes. It's the first real practice. When I say real practice, I mean not AAU basketball coached by my dad. And not shooting hoops with my brother in the driveway. 7th grade volleyball was my first competitive school sport; therefore, my first real practice.
I vividly remember the first week. Girls limping and whining about their sore legs. "Sorry I'm late to class, Ms. Teacher. I had to come all the way from Mr. Teacher's room." Cry me a river, right? I can see my girlfriends and I shuffling and skipping across the old, beat-up gym floor. We wondered why we had to do so much conditioning; all we wanted to do was scrimmage. Can you imagine 40 girls, most of which had never touched a volleyball, scrimmaging the first week of practice? Not a good plan.
Fast forward to this morning's kickboxing class. Let me just say, I don't like jumping. I would rather run 6 miles that do jumping jacks for 3 minutes. My body hates jumping, which means this was not a welcomed surprise at 5:30 a.m.:
I. Was. Beat.
While this may not be my favorite part of the workout, I never regret going. Even if burpees make me want to pukey.
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