This morning I worked out for the first time in a year. When I first learned I was pregnant, I was too scared. Then I was too sick. By the time that ended, it had been so long that my doctor gently suggested I "take it easy...walking is fine." The first couple of months post-c section were hard enough without trying to throw in a workout, so that leaves me...here.
For those of you who don't know me, let me explain: I'm one of those women that the other women hate because I'm naturally little (but I bet it won't last forever, which is why I figure I ought to work out now to prevent any impending metabolic shifts). But when it comes to coordination and athletic ability, I'm out. There are three of us in the family, but my older brother and sister took all of the athletic genes and left me with the scrabbly leftovers. I look like a confused string bean when it comes to anything requiring any form of minor coordination, but because I want to be a good role model of living a healthy lifestyle for Nora, I convinced myself I needed to get back in the saddle.
Fast forward to this morning - I had signed up for a 9:00 step aerobics. Note the 2nd paragraph: I am not coordinated. I am a terrible dancer; I do not have rhythm; I was never a cheerleader. But, I set my alarm, left the baby with Dad, and drove to the gym. I arrived a few minutes before class, and was walking over to get a step (did these things get bigger in the last year? I think so.) when the instructor walked over to me. She could be nothing other than a former Marine. She was the female version of Rocky. Not kidding. So, I said yes, I'm new (obviously...do I look like I know what I'm doing?); no, I haven't done this before. She told me to watch her and follow. (What, like I'm going to make up my own routine?)
I found a spot directly behind someone else so I can't see myself in the mirror. I hate how they put mirrors in gyms. I don't need to be reminded of how ridiculous I look flapping my arms around and fumbling to put my feet on the step in the correct rhythm. Next to me was a woman who was approximately 900 years old, wearing the tightest pants I have ever seen. I figured that at least I'd be able to keep up better than her.
Boy, was I wrong.
Not only was the teacher of this class Lady Rambo, the old lady was a powerhouse. If step aerobics was an Olympic sport, she would have won the gold medal for the past 47 years. While I'm struggling to keep up, she's dancing around her step as if she just won the lottery. I don't think she stopped to get a drink of water once. What is wrong with her?!
At one point, I looked at the clock, thinking surely the hour was almost over. It was 9:15. My legs were burning and I'd convinced myself that the other women in the class were robots. I almost tripped over the step 12 times. To distract myself from my impending death, I studied the purple shoes and tie-dye shirt of the man in front of me.
At about 9:45, I started thinking this should start winding down soon. A few minutes later, she says to lay on the yoga mat...and I think, yes, finally. But then some chipper blondie behind me chirps "oh, but on Fridays, we have an extra five minutes!"
Look, lady, I don't know where you get your jollies, but I'm dying here, so let's keep the comments to yourself.
So we did push-ups. Awesome.
Please note my sarcasm.
Well, I lived. And I managed to convince myself that it would be a good use of money to buy a punch card, just in case I want to punish myself again.
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