I could feel my legs barbecuing in my black tights. They'd probably start sizzling if I didn't get hurry the hell up, as much as one could hurry up while walking in 47°C (107°F) at 1:22 PM in Kuwait.
Whose bright idea was this anyway? Mine, of course. But the gym was so close to my place! Just a 10 minute-walk. If I wore a cap, I'd be fine. I found one in an airbag where my dad kept company merchandise. Perfect. I left home, capped, sunscreened, armed with a water bottle, marching onto the street, with Google Maps guiding me.
Except the sun was behind me and blazing down my neck. And my legs were heating up, and fast, maybe because the fabric was sticking to them. The water that had quenched me moments earlier dried out. I licked my chapped lips and could taste the sunscreen on the roof of my mouth. It tasted more disgusting than it sounds.
I finally reached the gym with barely a second to spare, and made my way into the 30-minute GRIT session, a high-intensity interval training (HIIT) class which would have no breaks. I suck at cardio and HIIT, and hadn't realized the worst was yet to come.
5 minutes into the class, I wished I had prepared a will.
All my energy had evaporated in the heat. What the hell was I thinking? Why was I doing this to myself? There was no clock up, and I had no sense of time, stuck in an eternal loop of burpees and circuits of squats and lunges and other exercises with a detestable set of barbells. I had to sit out a couple of sets to catch my breath.
I haven't been keeping up my strength or building it for the past few months. I hate how weak my body has gotten because of my inconsistent workouts. It deserves more for all it does.
The session FINALLY ended. I lived, as you can tell. Never again, I gasped, as I lay flat on the floor staring at the stars floating above my head.
I go back on Monday.