This past April, I celebrated my 7th-Anniversary-of-My-29th-Birthday. This is significant. Why? Because I need to remind myself that I am no longer 21-years-old. How do I do this? By attempting to complete two cardio gym classes in a row. Let me reiterate: Two. Cardio. Gym. Classes. In. A. Row - with an emphasis on cardio. Which completely proves to me that I am a young-un no more. I am a brick. A stationary brick. I think I like being a non-moving brick. It suits me just fine.
Even as a brick, I thought I was Queen of Cool, but it turns out I am only Napoleon Dynomite with a fuzzy 'fro, moon boots, tater tots and a llama, but even he has dance moves. I don't have dance moves. I can't dance; I thought I could, but it's really pretty crude bordering on inapt incorrectness.
Seeing as this white-girl cannot dance, I should have known when at the tender age of 12 I tried to take break dancing classes and failed miserably. Why oh why did I not stop there?
So, tonight, I went to my 2nd "step & strength class." I can do the weight strength training, but I am a 2-lefter on the step. Literally and figuratively. Add in squats, intervals, lunges, jumps, hips, legs all completed on or around a step and it's as if I am on invisible fire just like Ricky Bobby doing windmills across the race track in his underwear. I think you're supposed to look like some sort of gliding pretty in pink ballerina, but not me. I am a brick. Add some sweat and it's not pretty. In fact, it looks like I'm in pain. Lots and lots of pain. It cannot even be categorized as bopping. How the rest of the class did not fall into gales of whopping laughter is a very scientific mystery to me?
In trying to get beyond the qualified, but concealed amusement, the class that followed was a "cardio kickboxing class." Easy enough. I was a blue belt in kickboxing and took 3 months of boxing lessons and. . . .uh. . . . So, what are you trying to say? Whatever. So, I took kickboxing over 5 years ago and boxing only a year ago. I'm only a little out of shape, I've been working out for, like, forever. Duh. I can still punch. And kick.
Or so I thought once again.
Little (oh so very leetol) did I know it was successive bag punching for 30 minutes. Um. Ow. Is all I have to say about that. I do need to talk to the husband todrill him find out as to why I did not barf out a lung. It would have given me the excuse I needed to quit.
Finally, I'm out of the shower. I am indubitably and evidently not 21 anymore. Classes ended at 6:45. I can barely lift my fingers to the keyboard. All I can stomach is water. I have a nice tuna steak in the fridge waiting for human consumption and all I want is water.
. . . . kill me now.
Even as a brick, I thought I was Queen of Cool, but it turns out I am only Napoleon Dynomite with a fuzzy 'fro, moon boots, tater tots and a llama, but even he has dance moves. I don't have dance moves. I can't dance; I thought I could, but it's really pretty crude bordering on inapt incorrectness.
Seeing as this white-girl cannot dance, I should have known when at the tender age of 12 I tried to take break dancing classes and failed miserably. Why oh why did I not stop there?
So, tonight, I went to my 2nd "step & strength class." I can do the weight strength training, but I am a 2-lefter on the step. Literally and figuratively. Add in squats, intervals, lunges, jumps, hips, legs all completed on or around a step and it's as if I am on invisible fire just like Ricky Bobby doing windmills across the race track in his underwear. I think you're supposed to look like some sort of gliding pretty in pink ballerina, but not me. I am a brick. Add some sweat and it's not pretty. In fact, it looks like I'm in pain. Lots and lots of pain. It cannot even be categorized as bopping. How the rest of the class did not fall into gales of whopping laughter is a very scientific mystery to me?
In trying to get beyond the qualified, but concealed amusement, the class that followed was a "cardio kickboxing class." Easy enough. I was a blue belt in kickboxing and took 3 months of boxing lessons and. . . .uh. . . . So, what are you trying to say? Whatever. So, I took kickboxing over 5 years ago and boxing only a year ago. I'm only a little out of shape, I've been working out for, like, forever. Duh. I can still punch. And kick.
Or so I thought once again.
Little (oh so very leetol) did I know it was successive bag punching for 30 minutes. Um. Ow. Is all I have to say about that. I do need to talk to the husband to
Finally, I'm out of the shower. I am indubitably and evidently not 21 anymore. Classes ended at 6:45. I can barely lift my fingers to the keyboard. All I can stomach is water. I have a nice tuna steak in the fridge waiting for human consumption and all I want is water.
. . . . kill me now.
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11 comments:
I used to feel like this a lot. Then I got lazy. You should try it sometime, it's fun. And much less painful.
Girl, I ran/walked yesterday in the 90 degree weather and thought I was gonna die.
Oh, and if anyone could see me do those dance workout videos, they would die laughing. Talk about the lose of all my coordination and flexibility. Where'd it go? ;)
I hear ya on the workout struggles.
oops...loss, not lose.
That was weird, where did my comment go?
Hmm, now it's working, when all my funniness is used up. Anyway, the trick with these classes is to not try to keep up with everyone else, but to knock off as much of the steps as you can. Like one of them dance steps video games.
Well, it didn't help that I had some chick on the other side of the bag trying with all her might (& shoving use of body her weight) to move the bag across the floor. Seriously. I had to hit the freekin' thing hard to keep it in place when all I wanted to do was go around the bag to smash her. That's not the point of the class and that is not how you box. The nerve. Pfffft. Whatever.
Anyhow, it seems as if I'm not the only one that feels this way about this chica. I made, in passing, a teeny weeny complaint . . . errr. . . . comment (that's right, uh, "comment" for sure) today while at the gym. Seems she's a bit of a menace to these classes.
So, this just proves I'm not crazy.
. . . .so there you go.
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Mindy: I tried that. And, while I could pull that off in my younger days, I found that in the present I became a living, breathing, talking & very slow moving piece of lard. Of which is now taking me years to lose. ugh.
Alli: I can't run outside when it's much past 85. Yeow. I'm going to go purchase some dance videos for the privacy of me own casa. The trainer o' mine recommended a "zoomba" DVD? ? ? You hear of such things? Hm.
Ian: I have never done the dance step video games, as I am not brave enough. I did not in good conscience try to skip steps. It. Happens. Naturally.
Oh. BTW. I finally got around to asking the husband why I did not barf up a lung during my classes.
In his most excellent expert critical care opinion he said, "I don't know."
Oh the healing powers that be.
At least you're trying. My form of exercise now a days is shifting from one buttcheek to the other while sitting at work.
Jeez, what's the point of spending 7 years in medical school if you don't learn anything useful?
I would pretty much keel over dead if I tried any serious aerobic class. Mostly I like to just ride the stationary bike in the back of the room and watch the women in yoga class. That's one heck of a workout too! LOL
Tink: you probably have a really nice arse though!
Ian: I know!!! Tell me about it.
Jay: most of my male (and some female) friends would agree with you! Hey! & welcome to my blog! (I heart yours!)
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