The things I let Dee convince me to do.
Saturday she asked me to meet her at Gold's so that we could work on our "journey" essays. She said she was taking a couple classes in the morning. (because for her, working out five days a week is just not enough) and that I should join her for "Body Vive."
The way she described it: "It's a super easy class that involves bouncing a ball and pulling on rubber bands. You'll love it."
Those of you who have read this blog before know that when it comes to exercise, Homey don't LOVE anything. Homey tolerates exercise as a way to balance out the snack food on which she lives. So to say I was skeptical about loving this class was, I believe, a flat out lie on Dee's part. A lie for which she must be punished.
I am a woman of my word. (A trait that, as I have found in the last several days, seems to be something most people simply do not possess. Anyone else tired of being the one who has to fix everything when other people let you down? Let's see a show of hands. If you aren't raising your hand, you are part of the problem and also, like Dee, need to be punished. So go to your nearest Gold's Gym and take a Body Vive class.)
As I was saying, I am a woman of my word. If I say I'm going to be someplace or do something, I do my very, very best to fulfill my commitment. Therefore, while I do believe I need to have my brain examined, I showed up bright and early for Body Vive on a crummy, rainy, cold Saturday morning when all I really wanted to do was curl up on the couch with a cup of coffee and a good book.
I should have known I was in trouble when I checked in at the front desk. I asked where the class was being held, and the front desk folks, people who have seen me come in all the time, looked at me like I was insane. Seriously. Their collective expression said to me, "Seriously, Sarah, you're going to do Body Vive? YOU?"
Ignoring their unspoken warning, I took a seat on the chair outside the studio where the Body Flow class was finishing up (Body Flow is, apparently a sort of Yoga meets Tai chi thing. Dee loves it. I know they get to do the class in the dark, which is a plus.) and assessed the other people taking the Body Vive class with me.
Two heavier set girls, check. An older lady who was explaining to a friend why she couldn't take a different class because it was too hard on her feet, but that this one was okay for her feet, check. A gentleman walking with two canes. Check.
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| I stereotype, and Sarah, you're not the type to take this class! |
This was shaping up to be my kind of class!
He could not have been more wrong about this group!
I got in to the studio, where Dee was looking fabulous and not at all like she was at the start of her second class of the morning. I collected a mat, a ball, and a rubber band. With this sort of Kindergarten equipment, how hard could the class be?
Then the instructor, a very nice lady whose name I did not catch, announced that 1) She had no microphone and 2) She had bronchitis and was really feeling sick.
SCORE!
Oh come on, everyone knows when the teacher is sick the class is easier. Right?
Right?
Again, could not have been more wrong.
The first five minutes were pretty easy. Marching, waving the arms around, I felt right in my groove with this assemblage of less than top tier physical specimens. (Well, except for Dee, the woman next to Dee and the blond supermodel by the door they were perfect. Still, I felt I fell in the middle someplace.)
Once the warm up was over and we picked up the balls it became very, very apparent to me that 1) The two heavier women were obviously wearing fat suits to make the class even more challenging and were, actually, professional athletes. 2) The class the older woman was avoiding must involve walking barefoot on rusty nails because she was a whirling dervish in this class and 3) The man on Canes? That was a case of blatant false advertising, I'm convinced.
Egads, I was actually in worse shape than an older man who walked with two canes. In all honesty, as I stumbled through routines, and failed miserably with the rubber band thing (everyone else could stretch it over their heads...I couldn't get past my waist.) I realized that what I really needed was a slower version of this class...maybe some sort of remedial class that didn't involve quite so much...sweating and pain.
Oh, and bronchitis didn't slow down the instructor on single bit.
Lifting the ball in the air...who knew that could hurt so much? By the end of that segment, when everyone else slammed the ball on the floor, all I could manage was to let it fall from my burning hands. I was mildly surprised, my arms didn't actually follow the ball to the floor because it felt like I'd disconnected them from the rest of my body.
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| Playground toys or instruments of torture? |
At some point we were instructed to lie down on the mats. I was relieved, thinking it was time for a nap or at least a cool few moments of gentle stretching.
Oh no.
PUSH UPS!
My friends, I am going to admit...I did not do one push up. I just recently got back the use of my hands sort of. I wasn't about to do anything to risk that. Besides, my hands were too busy trying to ease the pain in my back brought on by the stress of lifting an air filled ball over my head several times. Hey, it's not as simple as it sounds!
So I sort of faked the push ups....since the instructor is on a platform, I'm pretty sure she saw me, but she was nice enough not to mention it. When all was said and done, and we were putting away our toys...I mean our equipment...Dee looked at me and said, "You're going to blog about this, aren't you?"
Only when I've regained the ability to move my hands and arms again, yes.
Now, 48 hours later, I'm still feeling sore and very, very stiff in every joint of my body. Body vive? How about Body destroy? That would be a better name.
Will I do it again?
Of course.
That is..if I get the feeling back in my legs and the searing pain in my back eases. After all...who needs to sleep in and relax on a Saturday morning? Torture with children's toys is so much more fun.
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