An object with the definition of cast-iron or cast-steel weight should potentially be illegal as a workout tool.  Or maybe it should require a license for use.  In order to obtain one you have to prove yourself tolerant of the hurt it inflicts.  Are you worthy?  Can you withstand the beating? I was introduced to the kettlebell a couple years ago by a trainer I sincerely admire and aspire to be like.  A strong female persona defying all the odds of aging and putting 

20-year-olds to shame when it comes to strength and activity level.  A kettlebell workout is a form of exercise that is not meant for the casual Sunday stroller, but more for the person who is looking to come close to death during their 45 minute session.  

In my post-marathon mourning I retreated to my familiar place at the gym with my favorite trainer.  I wore a self made sign on my shirt that said: 

“Disclaimer, I haven’t done S#@! since I don’t know when”.  

If you show your face in a kettlebell class you better not come with a matching outfit, a full face of makeup, or a cheery fucking attitude.  You better come ready to hurt, cry, grimace, and possibly vomit.  It is not a class for sissies.  Faint of heart need not apply.  Sure I just ran a marathon!  But in the eyes of the kettlebell workout I may as well have been sitting on the couch for 6 months.  26.2 miles of running, please…SO WHAT!!!  Having full respect for the training the way I have respect for mother nature being in control of everything good and bad in the world, I didn’t want anyone to judge me when I started gasping for air.  At the same point, it’s always nice when you have someone in the class that makes everyone else look AMAZING!!!  I could handle that role…

In true Missy style, fake it till you make it as the saying goes.  Whether I’m 14 or 46 I won’t admit I’m dying, and worried for my capabilities to WALK the following day!  I will show up and show out like I’m a paid professional.  If the pain that accompanied rolling over in bed last night wasn’t enough to remind me I wasn’t the female version of Rocky Balboa during yesterday’s workout…the fact that I couldn’t balance on one leg while putting on my jeans this morning surely did.  Did you know there is a very specific point on your ass that is responsible for allowing you to balance on one leg while putting on the other leg’s pant leg?  As if I was trying to balance the weight of my entire body on the tip of a pencil. Needless to say I tried that ONCE!  And thankfully I was close to my bed when it happened! 

So in my days following the curse of the kettlebell, I WILL be one of those annoying people taking the elevator one floor up with onlookers sighing as if why can’t I walk up one flight of stairs.  I WILL be one of those people that drops their napkin and leaves it on the ground, not because I don’t care about the environment, but because if I bend down to get it I may not be able to get back up.  And I WILL take the chance of becoming dehydrated by limiting my water bottle refills because the act of sitting down on a toilet more than two times will bring me to a spiritual crossing (not a good one)!  

But most of all, I WILL be the first one there again for class Monday morning because there’s no better feeling of “BAD-ASS” than when you toss around some cast iron!!!