But I didn’t give up.
I was just waiting and waiting and waiting on my assessment. The moment of truth. The notice that I passed or…well, failed.
To back up, after my initial training, I spent weeks and weeks team teaching, working up to teaching a class by myself, and perfecting my technique. After about a month and a half, I felt ready to tape myself for my video assessment.
On the morning of my taping – 8 a.m. on a Saturday to a 26-person class – I had that icky, sweaty palms feeling. You know that sweaty palms feeling? Where you keep nervously wiping your hands on your pants in a desperate attempt to get rid of that clamminess but it keeps coming back? Yes. That feeling.
As I fussed with the microphone and adjusted and readjusted my tune belt, I visualized myself executing the moves perfectly, saw in my mind how flawlessly I’d cue the moves. Reminded myself to smile, speak with confidence, hold myself tall. Have fun.
I signalled to my gym pals helping me run the video, watched the red light come on, welcomed the class to my taping, pressed play on my iPhone and off I went.
As soon as I heard that music, that music I’d been listening to for four months on an endless loop, my body blasted into autopilot action. Those carefully-rehersed cues came out of my mouth in steady stream.
I hardly remember a second of that class. At one point I remember being half way done. And then I remember raising my arms high above my head, completing the last stretch of the cooldown track and feeling victorious.
My gym mentor and I agreed it was an excellent tape, and I should go ahead and mail it in for my final assessment. So I filled out my self assessment form, made my way to the post office, and said a little prayer before handing over my DVD to the lady at the post office.
And then the waiting game began.
I could still teach without having that formal certification in hand, so I continued teaching classes and learning new tracks and waking up each day hopeful I’d receive an email with my fate.
In between sending in tape and waiting for my results, I continued to teach classes. But I felt this part of me holding back, probably because I saw myself as an imposter without that all mighty certificate in my hand.
After a couple of weeks floated by, I started to panic that I’d fail. The confidence I had after I made my tape started to drift away. What would I do if I failed? I’d have to retape. Or decide I must not be cut out for this group fitness stuff. I’d be devastated.
No matter how much positive feedback I’d receive after teaching or how much fitter and stronger I felt, I couldn’t completely embrace this new me without that certificate.
So a couple of weeks ago, in the midst of cramming new choreography into my head and perfecting my propulsive knee lifts, an email buzzed through on my phone. I saw Les Mills as the sender. And the subject line saying…
Part of me new I would. And that other part of me – that doubter – felt proud for accomplishing a goal that only a few short months ago I never thought myself capable of.
The best thing about this acheivement isn’t so much the certification. It’s the new way I look at challenges. When I think of a hurdle I want to go over, I’m filled with excitement and can’t wait to toss myself into a daunting task. I think, that would be awesome, I can totally do that. Why not? I committed myself to this BodyStep certification, worked hard, faced tough moments, but refused to let fear rule me. And once fear’s out of the way, there’s nothing I can’t do.