I hurt.
I hurt.
The baseball plyo training class that I'm in is kicking my butt three ways to Sunday, as near as I can tell. My stomach hurts all the time. My sides ache. My hamstring is killing me.
I get out what I put in, and I'm completely gung-ho about the class. I'm definitely learning a lot. A lot of the training isn't baseball specific, which was one of my concerns. I'm definitely slower than Ryan, the other person in the class, but I have better balance, determination and form than he does. Also by a lot.
I think part of the difference is age: I've spent too long making up excuses for why I can't do this or that, and too long explaining what I just did. One of the great things about the class is that the instructor (Gino? Giuseppe Chiaramonte is his name (according to the ASA site) doesn't seem to care about age or abilities: it's all about helping the student become a better athlete.
Giuseppe definitely makes the class amazing. He doesn't listen to excuses (which I figured this out in 5 minutes, I think Ryan is still learning). He's very enthusiastic, very encouraging, very inspiring (and yes, very well built).
I'm often wondering what he thinks of my signing up for the class. I mean, a 34 year old scrawny woman is a far cry from training Giants players. Of course, so are 12 year old boys, but at least they play baseball. I still throw like a girl.
And I still hurt.