The Value of Prayer.

Did you read my plea for prayer last night?

When I posted that plea, 10 minutes before leaving for my first Cardio Kickboxing class at The Bam's, I did so in the hopes that it would give me strength.

Longevity.

Oxygen ample enough to continue living through the class.

Strength to remain on both feet most of the time.

Balance to remain upright while on one foot during the other times.

Coordination so that I could kick and box at the same time.

Intestinal fortitude so that my banana and peanut butter wouldn't cause me to cause a scene.

Courage to bravely go where this woman has never gone.

Didn't you pray?!?!

Within 10 minutes of entering class...my first class...

I suffered.

Saw stars.

Heard an eerie ringing in my ears.

Sweated like an addict.

Nearly puked.

(Died a thousand mental deaths).

Sat down.

Drank a Capri Sun.

Cooled down.

Thought "I ran a friggen MARATHON! WHAT THE HAIL?!"

Shook my head.

Shook my head some more.

Walked around.

Saw stars.

Heard an eerie ringing in my ears.

Sweated like an addict.

Nearly puked.

(Died a thousand mental deaths AGAIN).

Sat down.

Had enough sense to stay seated until the stars and nausea subsided this time.

Shook my head again...this time less in amazement, and more in testing the ability of my head to move independently without wanting to come apart from the rest of my body.

Got back on the floor and did some pushups.

I did not quit. No, no.

Despite mortification...I still didn't quit.

Then, with the knowledge that I'd like to return to kickboxing class again on Wednesday (as well as continue with my original plan to wed next October rather than some date in the very near future, in a quick-hurry), I stopped on the way home from class and got one of these:

And PRAYED(!)...


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