I joined a gym last week. Since then, I have more energy, I sleep better, and my pride has been checked out the door.
I had a day off on Wednesday, so I decided to catch the noon step class. I attended Jazzercise last year and found the step class to be most invigorating. No problem, right? Oh, ignorance.
A somewhat haggard and bitter housefrau was the instructor. There was minimal instruction and complete lack of personality, except for an occasional giggle which I'm pretty sure was directed at me. The other attendees frightened me, with their perfectly toned bodies yet middle-aged faces. Have you ever witnessed this phenomenon? Not cool. Not remotely cool. My advice to them-- exercise less, eat a twinkie. In fact, the entire experience was just like a secret cultish choreographed dance that I should not have been permitted to witness. I looked like a complete fool; even the times that I completed a step correctly, I did it backwards. It didn't help that Spandex Man in front of me took the liberty of reprimanding my off-moves and pointing each direction with purpose. Shudder... Spandex Man.
The first fifteen minutes, I was ready to leave. Not only was my pride getting a beating, but my face was getting freakishly pink like it always does when I exercise. However, I stuck it out to the end and managed to avoid eye contact with every person as I stumbled out to the locker room. Huzzah!
Off to the gym. Grr, baby.