I work out almost daily—the elliptical, treadmill or bike; or an hour of hockey; maybe weights. Until last night, I thought I was in great shape. Nope, not even minutely close. Galaxies away from ‘In Shape.’ Think Elvis in the 70’s. In fact, think King Tut now.
I took a “Boot Camp” class at mySt. Paul gym. I can type this because my fingers are the only part of my body that don't hurt. I’m sitting on a hot rice pack and my thankful glutes are singing the ‘ Hallelujah Chorus’.
There had been mainly young people in the class with a few of us oldsters pathetically huddled against one wall. Overall, most of us did a modified version of what we were supposed to inflict upon unsuspecting, under-served muscles. If I don’t normally use these muscles, then I obviously don’t need them, so why not toast Evolution and retire their numbers?
I wonder what sadist came up with the moves the instructor was doing? Then she added tortuous medicine balls and stretchy ropes that seemed directly derived from Guantanamo Bay. (I will NOT be taking water aerobics from her!) This was supposed to be a Beginner class. Yeah... Guess I won’t be graduating. Like the little kids in sports now-a-days, I wonder if I’ll get a ‘Participation’ trophy for coming in LAST PLACE?!!
And how the heck am I going to walk upstairs tonight??? I think Advil and I will be sleeping on the sofa.
©10/10/2010 Jana B Patrick
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