I went to my first step aerobics class tonight. For those of you who have been to one, or tried to follow a Richard Simmons workout on TV, I can hear you laughing already. I had no idea what I was getting myself into.
When I first arrived the room had about 70 women in perfectly coordinated workout outfits, hair nicely done and toned bodies. I immediately regretted the six miniature Kit Kat chocolate bars I had eaten on the way to the class. I thought to myself, either this class really works, or this is a class for models. I decided to position myself at the back, and as far away from the mirrors as possible; just to be safe. As the class started, the instructor walked in, perfectly tanned, perfectly toned, and ready for action.
5 minutes into the class I am drenched in sweat, my hair is plastered to my head, my blue NYC t-shirt is soggy, and my shoes that don't match my “outfit” are pinching my feet. The fun had just begun.
All around me perfectly sculpted women are bopping around, up and down and all over the place; all while barely breaking a sweat. There I am, sounding like a train-wreck coming through town as I thunder up, down and all around my step. When the class went right, I went left, when they were up, I was down. There was no disguising that I was new to the class. Not to mention, my sweat was in the process of creating the Mississippi River. All this while I huffed and puffed like the wolf trying to blow down the brick home of the third little piggy.
I managed to finish the hour long class. I think finish might be too strong of a word. More like I managed to stagger through the last 45 minutes of the class only to collapse on the ground wishing I had enough strength to grab my water bottle. And that my friends, was my introduction to modern torture; also known as step aerobics.
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