Courage is not the absence of fear, but rather the judgement that something else is more important than fear. [Ambrose Redmoon]

Sunday was a big, huge day for me.

It was about a million firsts all rolled into one: the first time I’d ever been to Morristown (which was its own project all by itself), first time I ever did a fitness certification, first time I led a group in real life (something I’ve wanted to do for a long time), first time I ever really humiliated myself publicly, etc. And I want to tell you all about it and more importantly, what I learned from it!

* * *

First of all, I would be missing a huge chunk of this story if I didn’t point out that when they announced back in April that they’d be launching Cize this past summer, I knew I’d be obsessed with it. And I have been. (And that’s actually how I introduced myself at the Cize Live cert, just FYI.) I danced when I was little, but dropped out before my first recital. Growing up, I danced all the time — in my own way, to whatever struck my fancy. And I always believed I was a dancer.

So Cize fit into a lot of places in my heart.

:: The inclusivity of it (Shaun T literally made this so that everyone can dance)

:: The accessibility of it (you can buy the DVDs once and dance forever, or attend live class, or both)

:: The easiness of it (so easy to pick up the movements! so easy to join in!)

:: The FUN of it (infectious energy that gets you moving and keeps you moving)

:: The healing of it (dance is the only exercise you can do that involves your brain, body, and spirit on a whole other level, and there’s a reason that humans have danced for as long as we’ve been around)

* * *

Another component of this is that I’ve realized recently that while I advocate taking risks, going to extremes, and laying it all on the line….I don’t do that as much as I think I do. Not because I’m a hypocrite, but because what’s risky and hard for me isn’t necessarily what’s risky and hard for everybody else. I’ll write more about that later, but for now let me tell you: if you think you’re putting yourself on the line, but you’re not legitimately terrified, you’re probably not.

* * *

Back to this weekend.

I had been planning, prepping, and getting excited about this certification for weeks. I jumped on it as soon as I saw it available in a date/time that made sense for me. I organized my vacation around it, actually. I read all the materials and basically memorized them. I printed them out and put them in binders (which I did not need nor use, but I had them, dammit!). I posted about it on social media. I went on our instructor’s Facebook pages to check her out. I Cized it up at home like that would somehow prepare me.

I still had no idea what I was in for.

For those of you who have never attended a fitness certification, you might think it would be a lot like what I thought it would be like: we’d do the Master Class (which I knew we’d do and I knew it would be tough), then change our clothes (they put in the welcome email to bring a change of clothes) and do more “classroom” stuff where we learned about the how’s and the why’s.

I see now that I was naive and a little silly.

I say that because this was a certification to teach a fitness class. You know how you learn the “how’s” and “why’s” of how to teach a fitness class? Ummm, by teaching a fitness class. And you know what you have to do while you rotate through people taking turns? Oh, that’s easy — you participate in the class.

So basically, what I’m saying is that of the eight hours we were there, we probably danced for six of them.

Guess what? My body was in no way prepared to dance for six hours on Sunday.

[Whoaaaaaa. Big shocker, right?]

But what was I going to do? I got myself into this, so I had to do it.

And I totally cracked down on myself. It was bad enough that I had to borrow Ibuprofen before the Master Class because my knee was crazy painful. I was going to soldier up and get through this. I was full-on beating myself up for a lot of the day.

And then it was my turn to lead my group.

By then, I was pretty exhausted. Working out in a room full of people had already been stretching me to the limits of my capacity for body love, positive vibes, and not being completely and utterly humiliated.

And now it was time for me to do all of that in front of my whole group.

To hear them tell it, I did a good job.

To be honest, I blacked out a little bit and I don’t really remember it.

I do remember trying to run away at one point. Like, literally.

And I remember them being very encouraging and helpful. The more seasoned instructors sort of guided me for my next step, and my next, well past what I thought I “should” be looking for help on. Because, you know, I’d been watching this and watching people do this all day, and I “should” just be able to step up and do it. I “should” know exactly what to say and exactly how to break down the movement and, and, and.

Aside from the technical guidance, they all rushed in with support and encouragement and love.

To the point that our instructor noticed and snapped that picture above.

It was what I always wax poetic about! Sisterhood, community support, compassion when you most need it, encouragement in your darkest hour! With one notable exception: I was on the receiving end of it.

And that, quite frankly, made me freak the fuck out.

I felt extra embarrassed that I was clearly so freaked out and suffering at a whole ‘nother level, and that it was so obvious to them that they felt compelled to rush to my aid.

I felt like a token or a mascot.

I felt like “that fat girl who really tried her best.”

And I hated it.

By the end of the day, I was able to look at the picture and see that it was clearly special — as long as I didn’t identify too closely with that girl in the middle. And then when I shared it on my page and continued to process what happened, I saw all the ways that receiving this support rubbed my ego in the wrong ways.

See, I’m totally cool with sisterhood and community support and giving.

As long as I’m the giver. Apparently.

The last time I really, really, really needed someone to support me (in, like, a visceral, this-will-not-get-done-if-you-don’t-help-me way) was a little more than ten years ago. I’ve settled into a pretty comfortable life, in the last few years especially, where I am there for my friends and my family and they are there for me, but there’s not really anything on the line when all that’s going on.

People tell me often that I’m super brave for sharing what I share, posting my workout videos, dancing in public (sober), publishing my own book, putting my deepest thoughts and feelings “out there.”

But that stuff isn’t hard for me.

Sure, sometimes I feel a twinge like maybe I’m over-sharing (which I always ignore, by the way, because I really believe that if I feel compelled to share something, it’s because someone needs to hear it) — but really, telling you what I think is actually sort of a comfort zone for me.

So with all that said, this Cize Live certification was a huge deal for me and a very enriching experience, and it opened up new ideas and possibilities in my life. So I’m going to start doing more brave things more often. You already know that at the end of the month, I’m rappelling off an 11-story building (as part of an awesome fundraiser for the Boy Scouts of America and Switch, a local 501(c)3 working to end human trafficking and sexual exploitation — you can donate here!!!). And I know that’s going to be scary but exhilarating.

After that, though, I’m going to start focusing on doing more of what really terrifies me: more connecting, more being vulnerable in intimate space, more admitting that I don’t know everything and I don’t have it all together. Because for me, finding and using my voice in the context of relationships has been and continues to be my biggest life challenge.

So that’s what I’ll be focusing on for the foreseeable future, until it’s time to take on new challenges.

Ready to start actually getting out of your comfort zone, too?