Organized fitness classes are the most absurd things I have ever attended.  It’s a bunch of women (and inevitably one dude) flailing about to remixes of remixes as a nazi high school gym teacher from hell shouts things at you like “step tap cha cha up over cowboy.”  This particular coach was a woman either a smoker in her late forties or a nonsmoker in her early fifties, either way she could kick my ass in a dark ally.  All she has done for the last twenty years is exercise and learn the lyrics to pop songs so that she can shout them into the microphone over the beat of the music.  Nice lady though.

This, of course, is not to say that these classes are not effective.  I mean, they have had steady attendance since Jane pulled out that step in the morning shows of the early eighties.  The Les Mills has more or less standardized the craze.  Surely they must be doing something right.  That, or we are all sheep.

In determination to lose my spare tire, I committed myself to going to whatever the 930 am class was this morning.  The schedule had the slot labeled innocently as “Fat Burning.”  That doesn’t sound too bad, who doesn’t want to burn fat?

…

Do you know what you have to do to burn fat!?  I don’t either because all the sweat that oozed from my pores has congealed in my brain rendering the class nothing but a blur.  I’ll tell you this though, I hurt.  Sadly this was not the first class that I have ever attended, so one would think that I knew what to expect.

However, I have learned three things that keep me safe in times such as these:

1. Don’t mess with the stay at home moms. They are the veterans of the class.  They have been attending religiously every week for the last several years.  It does not matter their shape or size, do not take their spot on the floor and don’t even think about eyeing their choice stepping block.  Would you walk into a lion’s den and take Simba’s dinner? Didn’t think so.
2. You are not as fit as you think you are. The weights feel light and the steps look low.  But they aren’t.  Ten minutes in you are going to regret your ego telling you that you could handle it.  However, the stay-at-home moms… They are that fit.  Watch them crush you.
3. Stay for the last track. If you want any chance of NOT feeling like a rabid bull picked up with it’s horns and hurdled you into a brick wall the next day, stay for the last song.  This is the stretching track.  The cool kids might feel like they can skip it and leave early.  Remember.  You are not one of the cool kids.  See rules one and two.

The funny thing is, I’m whining and feeling sorry for myself, but I can already feel my body becoming more energetic and revitalized.  Not to mention the gym clothes make me feel productive.  This is the same euphoric yet idiotic feeling that makes me think that I can get up tomorrow and do it all again.

Will I ever learn?