On Monday evening, my younger sister and self-appointed personal trainer asked me to tag along to her night class. Apparently, one could burn off about 400 calories, it wasn't that hard and I'd feel good after it. Not wanting to muss up my new hair by swimming, I decided to give it a shot. It was...interesting, to say the least. I arrived into the class five minutes late, clutching my iPod and a bottle of water. Having been in the gym for a bit beforehand and then having to run up three flights of stairs, I was pink faced and panting. Ah, the joys of muscle wastage during the Leaving!
The room itself was like a typical "dance studio" - bright pink, wooden and full of women. Big women in voluminous grey tracksuits. Little, almost women in short, tight tracksuit bottoms and purple vest tops. A few people around my age who looked either super fit or super uncomfortable, and a few mammy types as well. All in all, an eclectic bunch, but this didn't make the room any less intimidating. "Jesus Chriiiiiiiiiiist, Eimear, I'm going to kill you for this\!" I thought, particularly when I spotted the trainer, an impossibly toned, Lycra clad, tanned lady who was dragging steps around like they were pillows. Everyone else was ready to go: I lumbered to the only spot left in the room The one spot no one dares to seek out.
Front and center.
Think about that for a moment. Your first exercise class in about five years, and you have a room full of lithe sixteen year olds and superfit ladies forced to watch your arse wobble in a bad, bad pair of tracksuit bottoms. Not exactly an easy intro to the exercise world. However, I decided that I was there now and I might as well give it a go. This "fuck it, be grand" attitude is something I really ought to try more of. The class started when the trainer switched on the peppy, poppy, loud music and yelled at us to warm up. "okay. Warms up. Stretching and jogging. I can do that!" I figured. Easy peasy. I wasn't that unfit.
Hahahahahahaha. Laugh, dear reader, as you sit at your computer. Go on, enjoy my naivety. It turns out that "warm ups" these days are the same as the rest of it: HARD! I spent the first ten minutes sweaty and confused, kicking legs and moving arms at total random. I eventually caught on - the premise of step and tone is simple enough. You are given a step, and you stand on it in a variety of ways. It's very fast, and sometimes arm swinging is involved. I was okay at it all provided it wasn't too complex: my lack of co-ordination caught me out more than my general lack of health.
One particular move astounded me: side stepping onto the step, lunging and swinging your arms. WHAT?!?! I am not Michael Jackson! I am not Rihanna! I just came here to become more human shaped, not become a backup dancer! My god, it was more like dancing than the gym. I was red-faced, sweaty and gasping for breath after 15 minutes, and when my sister's friend fell and hurt her ankle, a sick part of me was grateful that I no longer had to move my poor legs. I spent the next 15 minutes stretching out, hoping I wouldn't hurt the next day. I didn't hurt the next day - I hurt for the next five.
You know, reading back over this post makes it sound like I had an awful time: I didn't! I'll be honest, I felt great when I'd finished. Super proud of myself for surviving and all doped up on endorphin. The instructor, though a bit scary, was nice and generally let me do my own thing when I ended up using my left foot instead of my right. As I said, lack of co-ordination. Fun times. Next week, I will drag someone with me, though: it's a bit scary to do all alone. I'll also be arriving about 40 minutes early to grab that coveted step at the back...
Fitness as of now:
I am the lady on the right. I miss chocolate. Lovin' the exercise thing though :)
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