Hard bodies

I am not sure what possessed me to take a cardio sculpt class last night and then a step aerobics class this morning. (I think I was avoiding the media law brief, textbook readings and magazine article that I should've been working on instead. See: 'The Art of Procrastination' entry.)

My body is revolting right now. I mean that in every context that the word can be taken. But in this case, the usage that is most fitting is a revolution a la Bastille Day.

I knew the gig was up halfway through the step class this morning, when I saw three old ladies pleasantly kicking my uncoordinated butt. They were perfectly coordinated with the super-fit teacher, hopping up and down, kicking their legs gracefully, bouncing off and on their steps that were twice as high as mine. There I was lost and bewildered, desperately trying to count steps and keep up. Other descriptions that come to mind: pathetic, panting and sweating (not to mention praying), trying to get through that class.

I actually cheered when the class finally came to an end. Sike! The madness wasn't actually over just yet. The choreographed hopping up and down part was over. Next, the instructor wanted us to balance ourselves on top of some large,wobbly, plastic balls. I remember bouncing up and down on those things when I was five or six years old, but they had smooth, rubber handles on them. The gym's version had no cute little handles. We were supposed to "use our core strength to balance" on these maddeningly unwieldy spheres. Yeah right.

Ladies and gentlemen, when I thought it could get no worse, I noticed my ball was actually mocking me. Oh yes, my pained and strained face had actually turned the same shade of crimson as that blasted plastic ball. Who knew humans had chameleon-like properties?

I am proud to say that I made it through that class, and then the instructor asked me "Was this your first class?"

What ever gave her that idea?