A while back, I opined on starting up in an exercise class. I’ve continued with it in the time since writing that earlier piece, and I’ve added to my weekly attendance (for the most part; there are always sick-days and other obligatory absences to address). The dance classes themselves continue, and the instructor’s been offering Tabata classes on Mondays and Wednesdays that I’ve attended. Too, the classes have relocated to a local gym, of which I am a member, now, and if I’ve not popped in other than for classes, I have put in some time before class once or twice–and might again.

I am pleased to report that the classes are getting easier to do. I’m more familiar with the movements the dance class requires, muscle memory developing such that I can let myself go more in the class and spend less time being frustrated at myself for missed steps and the like. (They still happen, and I still hate it, but it’s better than it was, by far.) Too, the Tabata classes push me in ways that make sense to me, and I am able to push myself in them more and more with most classes. (Yes, there are some backslide days, but I catch back up quickly enough.) And my wife continues to enjoy them, as well, and I note a change in her demeanor and in the ease with which she carries herself; I do not think I can be blamed for being glad to see such things.

I do not think, either, that I can be blamed for taking some delight in being back at the weight I was when, in long-ago days, I did competitive judo; I am, somehow, back at my fighting weight. This is not to say, of course, that I am ready to compete again. I am badly out of practice in any martial art, and I am not likely to be able to get back into practice anytime soon. Too, I do not know that now, not far off of forty, I can recover from things as quickly as I could when I was in my early twenties, still full of fire and vigor and hope as I am now very much not. I doubt it, in fact, although I count myself fortunate that I have not, as I write this, had to put that idea to the test. (I am on the “don’t get sick or injured” healthcare plan.) Nor yet am I eager to make that trial, as martial arts is apt to make happen; injuries happen even without intent, and there’s always some asshat on the mats who wants to hurt people.

It doesn’t bother me much, though. I mean, yes, there is some missing the body of my younger years that had greater strength and stamina than I now possess; there can hardly not be so. But that does not mean I do not appreciate having been able to build some of it back up and to slim down a bit. Given a little more, I think I can fit back into suits that I bought and wore and have carried around for years that I’ve not been able to squeeze into them, or could only do so at the risk of looking like fifty pounds of shit in a twenty-five pound bag. (I am a big shit anymore, after all.) And I certainly feel better, which I take to be a good thing…

I can still use support for my further workouts.