Tuesday, July 16, 2013

Welcome back, Fattie.

The last time I was in an aerobics class I lived in Boston. For those who are in the know - I've been in the Twin Cities for 14 years now...and Boston - well, Boston was in my 20s. Literally, I was 20. I was a nanny with a ton of free time on my hands.  And thanks to the wellness minded folks at the YMCA there - nannies could join the Y for $20.00 a month.  It was a steal. The Y was located in Woburn. That should have been my first clue. If the town sounds like it's going to hurt, it's going to hurt.

I thought I was being wise, as those who are twenty in age think they are, by standing quietly in the back waiting for class to start. A very tiny ball of energy of a man came in with a Madonna-esque headphone and boom mic contraption and started step class with a burst of "Shuffle Chain and Up and Back and Over the Top and Back and Lunge."  He had 20 instructions spat out before I had my Reebok set squarely on the first step. "No worries," I thought dimly, "I'll just do the best I can, I'm in the back so who cares."  That worked until the room shifted and I was no longer in the back, but turned around and staring at 10 rows of housewives and nannies behind me and I'm front and center.  Boston Energy Ball thought for sure that barking orders louder should have snapped something in my brain and maybe what I had wasn't a coordination problem but a hearing problem. Alas, my hearing was fine.  The more flustered I got the worse my rhythm and coordination efforts became useless. Energy Ball, not to be thwarted, decided that what I needed was 1-on-1 coaching. 1-on-1 coaching in front of the entire class.  So while the rest of the gym pack followed along, as ballerinas, and dance line girls, and aerobics naturals...I floundered. For an excruciatingly long 3 minutes Energy Ball said things like, "C'mon girl, okay, nope...ah...okay...nope...other left foot.." in between his regular chants that the rest of the class got with no problem.  Lexington might have been the historical birthplace for the shot heard round the world, but Woburn is the home of the exercise instructor whose shame boomed loud into the mirrored gym and echoed in my brain until today. Every time I'd walk past an exercise studio at the gym, I'd hear him say, "Okay...Nevermind...I guess you're just doing your own thing."

I jumped a hurdle today by attending my first group fitness class in 17 years. Tonight, I went to yoga.  I smartly plopped my mat down in the center of the room, just in case this yoga guy decided to be "smart" and flip the room.

I was anticipating some light stretching, calming Namaste mind time. What I got was 40 minutes of sweat dripping down my face, making me look like Tammy Faye Bakker, and arms and hamstrings that were stretched and wobbly after 35 minutes. When they give you 5 minutes at the end of class to lay there, it's because they can't in good conscience send you walking out onto the weight floor straight after yoga, if they did, people would think the Zombie apocalypse was starting at L.A. Fitness.

Thank you Scott for being kind as a yoga instructor - for not singling me out at the one person that couldn't sit like a sparrow when you said, "If that pose doesn't work for you, here's another position that will accomplish the same thing." That is how you get someone to come back for another round.

Just one question...can I bring an Aero bed with me? Although my posterior has padding - it's not where it needs to be when we're rolling back and forth like 3 year olds throwing the slowest tantrum in the world.


Pat Suedkamp said...

You are so artistically great at writing. Does it make me want to go to Yoga...well maybe pilates...seems a less daunting for the mother of this great blogger!! Keep it up, the jiggles will get tight!! Or better yet disappear...love you!

Pat Suedkamp said...

I love reading your creative writing...hey keep it up and the jiggles will be gone! You not only can do it but you are doing it...yea for you and yoga!! Love ya, mom.