Diaries I Read:
So, I went to my kickboxing class last night. I�m proud of myself for actually following up on my plan to go, because a kickboxing class is the sort of thing that sounds like a really good idea until the time comes to get your butt off the couch and into the gym.
I didn�t feel that lame walking into the gym last night. It�s a gym I used to go to nearly every day, so it wasn�t as bad as going for the very first time.
But as soon as the class actually started, the lameness kicked in (pun intended).
Let me back up. I used to do various aerobics classes quite often. I did the step classes when they were the big craze. I even considered becoming an instructor for a while. I�ve done regular aerobics, funk aerobics, kickboxing, and yoga too. Being an ex-gymnast, I�m fairly coordinated, and these classes were never very difficult. I always caught on pretty quickly.
In every aerobics class you go to, there�s always that one retarded person. Or two. They�re always in the back, and often they�re men. Most men are just not wired for aerobics. Anyway, this retarded person can�t get the routine down, they�re always one step behind the beat, they�re kicking the right foot forward when it�s supposed to be the left foot to the side, and they�re just generally flailing around awkwardly. They�re also working really hard � all that flailing takes a lot of energy � and they sweat a lot.
I�ve never been that person. I�ve always been the person standing toward the front, following the instructor closely, feeling bad for the retard in the back. Sometimes I�ll miss a beat or do a move out of sequence, of course � I�m not an aerobics goddess or anything � but for the most part I appear with-it.
Last night was an entirely new experience for me.
I arrived about five minutes early and people were lining up outside the aerobics room. They seemed very eager and very possessive about their spots in line, which I thought was stupid because everyone was going to fit in the class. So I waited patiently toward the back, eyeing the other people in line.
It was your typical mix. There were the really overweight people. There were the middle-age housewife people. There were the very young high school girls. And, of course, there were the girls in their tight workout pants, spaghetti-strap workout tops, fancy-schmancy aerobics shoes, and a scrunchie to match (just kidding about the scrunchie). These girls didn�t have an ounce of fat on their bodies and stood around chatting to each other like they were in homeroom.
When they opened the doors and everyone filed in, the room filled up pretty quickly. It was really crowded toward the back, so I figured I�d go up to the front. I wasn�t afraid of being in front. I was confident enough, and I wanted my space.
I didn�t go to the very front � that area was taken up by aforementioned homeroom girls. I eyed their toned little butts wistfully.
The instructor came in and asked if this was anyone�s first time. I didn�t raise my hand. I�ve done this before. But a bunch of other people did raise their hands, so she decided to �run through the routine� really quickly. Really quickly was the key. She breezed through the different punches � the jab, hook, undercut, etc. � and the different kicks � if they had names, I don�t remember � and hopped through the �routine.� It seemed to be going over my head, but I figured I�d get it once the music started and we actually began the workout.
Wrong. Once the music started, it got even worse. First of all, I was on the wrong side of the room, and I couldn�t see the instructor. So I tried to follow the people around me, but many of them were as lost as I was, so that didn�t help much. I was punching the wrong way, punching with the wrong arm, kicking when I should have been hopping.
And I could see it all happening in the mirror right in front of me. I was the retard.
Granted, I wasn�t the only retard in this class. There were plenty of others to keep me company. But I was in the front. And I wasn�t used to being the retard.
I tried to follow the homeroom girls in front of me. That worked for a while since by all appearances they attend this class every single day and could teach it if they needed to. They knew all the moves, and they looked good doing them, so I tried to imitate them and follow along.
But then they started getting all fancy on me. When we were supposed to do a jumping jack, they�d do a split jump! Seriously � like little cheerleaders! And when we were just supposed to do a kick to the side, they�d do this karate-chop jump-kick thing! So there I was, just trying to follow along, and they�re jumping around in front of me and that totally threw me off.
And on top of all that, I was wearing the wrong pants. I know the girls can all identify with me here. Boys do not know why we have � and need � six pairs of black pants, for instance, but girls understand. You have certain pants for certain occasions � some are fat pants, some are skinny pants, some are work pants, some are slutty pants, some are comfy pants, etc. You all hear me, right? Well, I was wearing the wrong pants.
This is all because it�s been so long since I went to an aerobics class. I�m out of practice. I had a particular pair of black workout pants in mind when I got dressed, but I pulled the wrong ones out of the drawer. I didn�t even realize it until I got to the class and started jumping around. They were the wrong pants.
They were just too thin and too loose. Workout pants are tricky � if they�re too tight, it�s bad because they show too much (unless, of course, you�re one of the homeroom girls). But if they�re too loose, you just look like a fatty. Same thing with the texture. Too thick and you get hot. But too thin and they just leave nothing to the imagination. So I�m watching myself in the mirror and the pants are too loose, making me look about 10 pounds heavier, and on top of that they�re too thin, and I�m just � jiggling. Really. I probably didn�t jiggle as much as a lot of other people in the class, but still, I felt sorry for the people behind me.
So I can�t follow the routine AND I�m wearing the wrong pants. It was very frustrating. I almost didn�t care so much about looking like a dork, but what really bugged me was that I wasn�t getting a very good workout because I just couldn�t DO it the way you�re supposed to. I know the homeroom girls in front got a great workout � especially with their fancy split jumps and everything � but I spent too much time sort of standing around or hopping around trying to figure out what they were doing.
About halfway through, I just wanted to leave. Not because I was too tired or it was too difficult � just because it seemed like a waste of time. But I stuck with it, and I�m glad, because toward the end we did this turbo routine, which was really fast and really simple and I could do it, and then some strength training, which I could do because I�m not so retarded I can�t do squats and crunches.
At one point during the class, I said to myself, �I am never doing THIS again,� but I figure I should probably give it at least one or two more tries. Maybe I�ll start to catch on if I do it again. And I�ll wear the right pants next time.
I was planning on going to a kickboxing class tonight at the gym right by my office. But after last night, I�m not so sure. See, a lot of people from work go to that gym, and I think I�d prefer to keep my jiggling retard kickboxer side separated from my �professional� side.
�HIIIII-YA!�
Working at home - Wednesday, Nov. 17, 2004
Toronto - Tuesday, Nov. 16, 2004
On the way to Toronto... - Tuesday, Nov. 09, 2004
A Good Day - Monday, Nov. 08, 2004
Another letter - Thursday, Nov. 04, 2004