It felt like an ant crawling down my face. From the top of my head to the bottom of my chin. Tickling my cheek. 

Only this was no insect.

It was a tiny bead of sweat. Building momentum, mass and speed as it trickled down and finally landed on my mat. Many more soon followed. Today was cardio day.

My heart raced, my lungs gasped, and my muscles nearly buckled. 

We sprinted. Forwards first. Then backwards. Then forwards again. Each time he yelled, "switch" we changed direction. Mind and muscle working together.

And all the while I was just trying to remember to breathe. Exhale. Inhale.

Exhaustion accomplished.

But then the trainer said, "Now we're going to bump it up a notch."

And he added all sorts of high-intensity exercises designed to keep our hearts screaming.

Our bodies moved for an entire hour with nary a rest. A sip of water here and there. A stolen moment to catch a breath. That's all.

At the end of the session, I sat on my mat. Recovering. Marveling. I made it through. Again. Knees quivering and body beaten.

And yet, there I sat feeling rejuvenated. Pumped. High on endorphins and all those other feel-good hormones released during serious physical exertion.

I could get used to this. Maybe.