What Are Your Goals?

Avoid emotional breakdowns at gym class

As all mothers can relate, by the time Thursday morning rolled around, Bethany had already had A WEEK.

The out-the-door routine with littles, commute time, daily clinic and hospital work, soccer practices, teeball games, irrational toddlers throwing their freshly cooked eggs on the ground and demanding food five minutes later (um…no) topped with an irritating illness had already taken a toll on the psyche.

A late evening dinner commitment on a Wednesday night landed her home at 9:15 PM, leaving her grateful she had taken the rest of the week off for out-of-town plans with some beloved girlfriends.

However, Thursday was going to be a reset. The daytime hours all to herself to complete a hefty Orange Theory class, buy additional fruit for the vegan-demanding toddler, run a few errands, clean up her debt around “The Flem” (a sarcastically loving nickname for her community), and pack early.

She dropped the kiddos off at school and set out to make her scheduled exercise class slot. It’s a tough work out. You spend 25-29 minutes on the treadmill as the coach instructs the participants to keep up a “base pace” (the speed level you can continue comfortably for 20-30 minutes), move to a “push pace” (which elevates your ticker into that desired orange zone of 84-91% max heart rate), and for added pleasure, “all outs” (bump the treadmill up at least 2 levels above your base after you’ve sufficiently exhausted all reserves, and let’s see what happens!).

Then, you transition to “the weight floor” — a combination of free weight exercises and the rowing machine for 25 minutes. This can vary from arms, to legs, to core, with rowing 100-2000 meters in between and it changes with every class. One leaves the place TANKED. Or should.

This particular day, Bethany was still fighting off the latest viral cough inherited from her children approximately 10 days prior. (Please withhold judgment. If we didn’t continue life necessities such as working out for mental health stability every time we caught a virus from our children, we would never leave the home.) The treadmill WARM UP put her in the Orange Zone immediately. For those that are not familiar with Orange Theory, this is foreboding. Bad. You’re tanking yourself far too early.

She backed off on her typical “base pace,”feeling slightly like a loser for doing so. During an intense “push pace to all out” session, she almost hacked up a lung, although the bounce and vibration of the treadmill resulted in excellent chest percussion therapy.

As she made it to the weight floor, totally gassed from the first 25 minutes, she told herself, “Just finish.” Not on her game, she goofed up by heading to the rower at one point when she was supposed to return to chest presses. The instructor reminded her, and Bethany (the only one who didn’t listen to the pre-instructions) headed back to the weight floor.

“Lemme clear additional weight to make up for it,” she thought, grabbing the 20 pounders. Again, feeling under the weather. Again, already completely depleted.

The end of the class arrived and Bethany performed an internal massive fist pump for making it through. She likes to be the first one out of the place, get her keys, and go. Very antisocial. But honestly, she’s at that stage in her life where she has to be selective about where she spends her precious few free moments. Stay and socialize with randoms because she never sees the same crew twice, or get to shower before the next task of the day?

However, her instructor for this particular class had different plans in mind. She called out:

“Bethany, hang out for a minute.”

As a recovering teacher’s pet, Bethany became immediately terrified.

“Is she going to berate me for sitting on the rower at the improper time? Am I to perform additional chest presses as punishment? Am I kicked out? Is she going to call my dad???”

Of course, it was none of those things. The instructor simply looked at her, smiled kindly, and asked,

“So what are your goals?”

Bethany stared at her a moment, unsure about committing to where this was going. She began rambling on about matters such as: “Just trying to survive, make it here two days per week, I’ve got a really busy schedule like everyone…”

The coach then asked about her life. How many kids? What do you do for work? Where do you commute to?

Bethany responded to each question in turn, taking slightly longer than socially appropriate to remember each of her three children’s ages, and suddenly felt something intensely embarrassing happening.

Tears, welling up.

WHAT? WHY?!?!

We’ll tell you why. Because all of the above. Because she was on day 27 of her cycle, prepping to “surf the crimson wave” (as Cher from one of her favorite movies puts it). Because now she felt like a work out failure and a 1/2 way mom and a 1/2 way employee and 1/4th of a spouse and a 1/8th of a friend. The fractions all dangerously decreased by the emotional break-down minute.

She gulped, and politely ended the post-work out conversation as soon as possible. She was sure the instructor was relieved as well. The instructor hadn’t signed up for an impromptu therapy session next to the disinfectant wipes and stereo blasting Eminem lyrics. Bethany did get out of the class pack up-sell fairly seamlessly though, and for that, she gave herself a gentle pat on the back.

She then proceeded to climb into her vehicle, and let out the (at least) once monthly explosive cry that every woman needs to recalibrate. She wished in that moment she had facial mist available to spritz new vibes all over her face (shout out to her good friend Jenn for that pro tip). She headed into the grocery store to purchase the imperative FRUIT as well as salmon (the seafood counter employee handed her cod initially, a dangerous move for a momentarily emotionally unstable woman) and pushed off from there.

It takes a good meltdown every now and again.

She then settled her debts amongst the Flem, mucked out her SUV (whom is called Ned), laid out her clothes for the weekend, and headed for a quick, relaxing, sans-kid 1.5 hours of sunbathing in the adult-only section of the communal pool.

Just as she had settled her Stanley 40-ouncer influencer mug on the lounge chair side table and adjusted her towel, an aware older man yelped out:

“SNAKE! COMIN’ YOUR WAY!”

She had to laugh at the peculiarity. She scurried over to the opposite side of the glistening blue water. As the man identified the snake as a black racer, she google-searched the meaning of this serendipitous interaction.

Black racers have historical roots as healers and protectors. This speedy serpent has been called upon in times of need. There are Native American stories of black racers changing into other creatures using spiritual wisdom. Also, the snake reportedly has protective forces against evil spirits, often used to purify an area from negative vibes. They shed their skins A LOT, a sign of reincarnation. A readiness to let go of the past, and move forward with what is in front of us.

So for those of you in this…place…, we know you need to hear this too:

This stuff is really, really hard. You do a whole heck of a lot. It’s okay to feel tired and unsure and afraid. We don’t always get everything done. We spill the milk and sometimes, spill the tears.

You’re doing really, really well. Truly, you are.  Keep showing up and open to the possibility of black racers, frequently living in parallel with us, and quiet reminders of new beginnings. And instead of screaming when you see one, maybe take a deep breath, smile, and wonder to yourself what its goals are.