I went to work out today (just like groundhog day, over and over again) and there was a chickie there with this t-shirt:
And I thought, “Ooh, I like that design.” You know, the elemental abbreviation for iron is Fe and working out makes me a strong woman . . . cute, right? And then I added that to the list of Things I Swore I’d Never Say, But Lived To Eat My Words. Oh well. At least my new interest in workout wear makes Josh happy and keeps me comfortable. It really is the lazy woman’s way to dress. Last night someone told me (and they were sincere and meant it in the sweetest way) that I really pull off the Plain Jane look and I knew exactly what they meant. They followed it up by saying I dress like a yoga instructor which is really the greatest compliment ever, as long as we’re imagining the woman in comfortable yoga pants and soft shirts with thumbholes in the sleeves and not the ones with long armpit hair, woo music, and smelling of incense.
This month is Ramadan and for the first time I’m working out with people who are fasting. I started Crossfit last year during Ramadan, but the class I attended back then was made up of non-Muslim expats. Those women have moved on and for the last few months I’ve been in a class with all Bahrainis. When Ramadan started our gym shifted all the classes to the late afternoon/evening to accommodate those who are fasting. Classes are at 4 and 5 (so people fast from food and water all day and then work out!) and then there’s a break for people to break the fast (at approximately 6:30pm every day), then classes at 8:30, 9:30, 10:30 and even an 11pm class!
I’ve been going at 4pm because that’s when the ladies I work out with decided to go — so they can get home in time to get ready to break the fast with their families. I’m amazed by how tough they are and how dedicated they are to working out in spite of the heat and not being able to eat or drink for 12 hours before they arrive. I suck down extra water for the hour before I go to the gym and my mouth still feels like a parched desert halfway through the workout.
Because I’m not Muslim, the coach and everyone said “feel free to drink water as usual,” but I figure if they’re all fasting, the least I can do is go without water for the hour that I’m at the gym. The first day of Ramadan, between every exercise, my friends were begging me, “Please drink water.” “Have some water.” “Really, you can have water.” I told them that I was fine, but as soon as class was over they went and got water from the cooler and said, “Please drink. Drink for us. It will make us feel better.” I can’t explain it well, but their care for me and not wanting me to be burdened by the sacrifices that they take on as part of their faith . . . it’s not what you’ll see on TV, but it’s what we have experienced in real life.
All that to say, I’ve been a rock star at the gym these past 3 weeks. But I joke with Josh that it’s a bit like bragging that I won a race against a bunch of people on crutches. If I were dehydrated (we’re at well over 100 degree temps these days) and faint, I know the last place you’d find me would be at the gym. I’m impressed by all those who come and attempt any kind of workout under those conditions day after day.
Since Calvin finished school last week he’s been coming to the gym with me. And he’s got some work to do to catch up. Ha! Let me brag that I can lift more than my 17 year old boy (for the 5 minutes that it lasts) before he masters proper technique and blasts straight past me. He’s already stronger than he was when he started, but today, I came out on top. 32.5 kg push press (shoulders to overhead) vs his 30kg. That’s me, winning against newbies and a crew of people ready to pass out. #beast