Okay . . . eight sessions completed. I've dropped a few pounds, though it's hard to say how many because the scale LIES. Seriously, I'm moving up and down a bit, and it's sort of like those Gallup polls that are always on the news: I'm within the margin of error. So I'm not sure whether I've actually lost weight or not, but I haven't gained any—which I usually do at the beginning of a new workout routine, so I'm still happy. And I'm getting a little stronger with each session.
My feet have (mostly) stopped hurting and tonight after class I only hobbled halfway to the bus stop, then my legs had more of a spring in their step. Until now I've literally hobbled out of class. One night this week I wasn't sure I would make it to the bus stop.
So far the instructors are super sunny when they see me. Most of them break into HUGE smiles when I come in. The vibe I get is that most out-of-shape people tend to quit after a couple of sessions, and there's maybe a little surprise that I'm still going. Except the Cutie doesn't smile. He looks a little . . . relieved? Semi-happy? Not sure, but he's turned out to be the most intense instructor I have by far. That's not a bad thing, mind you, but . . . I wouldn't mind another wink.
Keep your fingers crossed that I'll be able to do a session on Saturday. I will most likely have to work.