Hot damn! I don't have to take a gym class in college? Thank you, Jesus!

At Concordia College, it is not required to take a gym class in order to graduate. My days of being picked last were over. Days of finishing the mile last. Days of sweating more than the rest of my classmates combined. Days of smelly, dirty locker rooms. Over. I didn't have to worry about it. None of it. I could throw my gym clothes away and finally relax.

The only graduation requirement is an 8-week long Wellness class. Psh. Simple. From what I had heard, it was just a glorified high school health class. No. Problem. Show up, raise my hand every once in a while, get some credit, and get that out of the way. Just 8 simple weeks.

I took my Wellness class with the head wrestling coach. I fell prey to stereotypes and scuttlebutt; taking a class with a wrestling coach means you get two things: credit and an early release from class. Sit through a rushed PowerPoint and head on out. This was true for the first few classes.

But that was just the beginning. It just goes downhill from there.

The big assignment for the semester: create and instruct a workout for the entire class to do together. The exercises need to be for people of all kinds; any fitness level, any disability. Whatever it may be that's stopping someone needs to be accounted for and each exercise needs to have the option of being modified.

I got put in a group with people I didn't know. I still can't tell you what their names were. My mind was overcome by anxiety. How am I supposed to conduct a class workout when I can't even do half of the exercises myself?

I'm not outrageously unfit. I enjoy walking and running, and I also play a mean game of badminton. But I have struggled with my fitness for my entire life. My body has put up with lots of Cosmic Brownies and chicken nuggets, a few packs of cigarettes, and even eating disorders. I've come a long way in life, but my body still struggles more than anything.

The professor did a demonstration in class. He wanted to show us what he expected from us all. He expected for us to sweat and to not be able to walk for three days.

The whole thing lasted for half an hour. I showed up in some workout equivalent clothes and was sort of ready to go. How bad could it be? This had to be for everyone, including me: the only one in the class who is obviously not an athlete. Do a few half-ass push-ups, a crunch here and there, probably some walking/sprinting combo laps, and a couple of other things. How bad could it be?

Very bad. Very, very bad. That's actually an understatement. I have never been so humiliated in a gym class before. Mind you, this is coming from the kid who was a pudge-ball from kindergarten and up. From the kid who was constantly picked last. From the kid whose best time for running the mile was about 12 minutes. From the kid who got winded going from one end of the school to the other.

I'm used to being embarrassed. I'm used to the gym teachers taking pity on me. I could do two laps instead of three. I didn't have to do the swimming unit if I didn't want to. I only had to do half the number of crunches assigned. I'm used to the special treatment.

Throughout the entire workout, I was red in the face and sweating all over. I felt like everyone was looking at me. They were all judging me, surely... I couldn't bend my body the way they did. I couldn't get as low. The further along we got, the more flustered I became. The more flustered I became, the harder the exercises were. I just couldn't do it.

I couldn't.

Surprisingly, I made it through the class without breaking down into a puddle of panic and tears. That didn't happen until I left the gym complex. I sprinted to my room, slammed and locked the door, and cried. My knees were weak and so was the rest of me.

There was nothing I could think of that was more embarrassing than that workout. Even after losing almost 50 pounds; even at a "normal weight", I was the fat kid again. My entire being was humiliated and devastated. I just couldn't do it. I couldn't.

I had to medicate myself in order to make it through the next class periods. But even with the anxiety pills, I couldn't make it through without crying. I couldn't even look my professor in the eye without mine welling up. I just couldn't do it.

I couldn't.

Humiliation and shame encompassed my entire being as I wrote an email to my professor. I needed help. I wasn't comfortable with a group workout. None of it. Not even a lap around the gym. I just couldn't do it.

I couldn't.

I can't even remember the last time I felt so defeated. The last time I felt so embarrassed and humiliated. Felt such a deep hatred for myself. All of these feelings bogged me down. I just couldn't do it.

I couldn't.

Despite all of these feelings, I was still able to wake up the next morning. I was still able to go to class. I was still able to do workouts on my own time and in my own comfort. I was still okay. These were all things I could do. I could do it.

I could.