Big- Girls- Don't- Cry.

Remember (for any of you who read words and don't just look at pictures (I'm guilty of it too (is there a grammatically correct way to put parenthesis inside parenthesis inside parenthesis?))) how I have that crying problem? (Now you have to go back and read the sentence without the parenthesis to make sense of that sentence huh? Too bad.) Well, this morning I cried during my Body Combat class. Just a little. No one would ever notice. Especially since my face had already reached at least a level 10 of redness and sweatiness.

Why did I cry? Not really sure.

Guess it could have been the music (I can see your Halo Halo Halo...." it's very catchy and surprisingly, emotionally manipulative-- or do I just think that because I associate it with that killer dance on SYTYCD before they put two seasons back to back and I got sick of it?)

Or it could have been the simulative butt-kicking that makes me think of situations where I would actually have to kick some one's butt... and those usually involve defending/ avenging my kids (crying again just typing that... so maybe the case is closed. You see I have a problem.)

Or it could have been the obvious. I was being MURDERED. I've been trying to mix up my work-out routine by doing more classes. I didn't used to be a class- girl. But I've realized that they have got some rad classes now, that work me SO much more than I can work myself. So maybe I was just crying because every muscle in my body burned like it was racing with vampire venom.

Or it could have been the realization that the image of the silly girl in the mirror whose tank was too tight for the lighting (my ego prefers my dark yoga class), and whose upper-cuts just looked like a crazy elbow-wiggle by the end, was indeed, me. I swear I feel like a kickboxing guru... a regular Billy Banks... a Million Dollar Baby. I feel like I'm moving JUST like the compact, high energy, DARLING little Asian girl who teaches the class, and then I catch a glimpse of my VERY non-Billy, non- Hillary, non-compact, non-little-Asian body in that blasted mirror. But I'm not that vain. I wouldn't cry over that--- would I?

It was probably that.