Gym Membership: A Lesson in Humility
So about a month ago, I joined a gym. I didn't want to mention this earlier because I didn't want to jinx it, but I've been going about 5 times a week to various classes (weights aren't my thing) for almost a month now. And actually now after writing this blog, I'll probably quit going all together due to the universe punishing me for my hubris, but here's hoping that doesn't happen.
It bears mentioning that I've lost 35lbs in a year. (The last 10 weren't intentional, but that's another story for another blog.) I'm now the same size I was in college, which is totally awesome. I don't have any recent pictures of myself, but here's one of me 2 Christmases ago, 35lbs heavier than I am now...
I mention this to illustrate that my purpose in working out is to MAINTAIN my current weight (not lose any more), get healthier, and combat my anxiety/depressive issues with natural endorphins and not drugs.
For me, nothing is more awkward than joining a class in which I have no idea what I'm doing. And since there are few things I enjoy more than making fun of myself, here's a rundown of my fitness experiences and the lessons they've taught me:
1. Zumba
Zumba is arguably the worst class for me. My heritage is defined by bland food and austere poetry, where as Latin dance is all about flavor and passion. Zumba just serves to cement what I already knew about myself: I have no moves. I am physically incapable of shaking my hips without jerking my torso and flailing my legs and arms. And I can forget about following the music. I basically stand in the back, a foot taller and three shades whiter than everyone else, gyrating around like I'm doing the robot while on fire.
The instructors are always nice about it; they come up to me after class and say things like, "The important thing is that you kept moving!" which harkens back to high school Algebra when my teachers used to say things like, "I'm so proud of you! You only got half the problems wrong this time!" (As a side note, I've never used math for anything other than calculating tips and sale prices, so the frustration was entirely superfluous.)
So why do I keep going?
a) It's actually pretty good exercise.
b) I secretly really like jamming to Shakira and Hindi-Salsa fusion.
c) I keep hoping that if I continue to go, I'll loosen up a little. If I can teach my legs, hips, and torso to move independently of one another, maybe when my girlfriends and I go out dancing I can actually join them on the dance floor, rather than my current POA, which is to stand around looking cute while boring the person next to me with stuff I learned in Advanced Linguistics.
Lesson learned: I can't dance, and I am extremely awkward, tall, and pale.
2. Yoga
I started taking yoga as a result of the incessant urging from my friend who just so happens to be a yoga instructor. (Yogis are like Vegans in that they're not satisfied just doing it themselves; they think everyone else should be doing it too.) So I went out, bought a mat and some stretchy pants, and set about finding my inner insert-ridiculous-word-I-can't-pronounce.
Now, I don't consider myself to be a weak person. I spend a considerable portion of my day hauling around a 40lb child and his accoutrement. But as it turns out, I am completely incapable of supporting my entire body weight on one foot while squating and tilting backward at a 90 degree angle. I also have the flexibility of a bullfrog. And finally, being tall is kind of a bummer because I keep running out of mat.
So there I am, crouched on my mat doing the "modified" (read: "weakling") version of a pose, and the 80-year-old lady next to me has her legs tucked behind her head while supporting her entire body on one elbow. Meanwhile, I'm pretty sure my muscles are bleeding.
So why do I keep going?
a) It actually is kind of relaxing.
b) I would like one day to be the 80-year-old woman with the agility of a mongoose.
c) All the cool kids are doing it.
Lesson learned: I'm weak and unflexible. Also I need to stop making fun of people who are obsessed with yoga because they could totally kick my butt.
3. Kickboxing
I'm actually really good at this, most likely due to the fact that the entire sport is defined by stiff, combative movements. It's also one of those sports where being tall is beneficial because I can kick someone 4 feet away.
Lesson learned: I have a lot of pent-up aggression and a fierce right-hook.
Regardless of how horrible I am at various classes, I'm kind of having fun with it, if for no other reason than my gym has free child-care while you work out, which gives me an hour or so without someone begging for cookies or whining to watch "Toy Story" for the billionth time. Also, it kind of gives me a "Remember Caesar, thou art mortal" kind of experience, which in turn moderates my minor superiority complex.
Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go put on my skinny jeans and stare at myself in a mirror, because I know as soon as I stop working out regularly and resume eating refined sugar, I won't be fitting into them anymore.
It bears mentioning that I've lost 35lbs in a year. (The last 10 weren't intentional, but that's another story for another blog.) I'm now the same size I was in college, which is totally awesome. I don't have any recent pictures of myself, but here's one of me 2 Christmases ago, 35lbs heavier than I am now...
 |
| ... and presumably looking for pie. |
For me, nothing is more awkward than joining a class in which I have no idea what I'm doing. And since there are few things I enjoy more than making fun of myself, here's a rundown of my fitness experiences and the lessons they've taught me:
1. Zumba
Zumba is arguably the worst class for me. My heritage is defined by bland food and austere poetry, where as Latin dance is all about flavor and passion. Zumba just serves to cement what I already knew about myself: I have no moves. I am physically incapable of shaking my hips without jerking my torso and flailing my legs and arms. And I can forget about following the music. I basically stand in the back, a foot taller and three shades whiter than everyone else, gyrating around like I'm doing the robot while on fire.
The instructors are always nice about it; they come up to me after class and say things like, "The important thing is that you kept moving!" which harkens back to high school Algebra when my teachers used to say things like, "I'm so proud of you! You only got half the problems wrong this time!" (As a side note, I've never used math for anything other than calculating tips and sale prices, so the frustration was entirely superfluous.)
So why do I keep going?
a) It's actually pretty good exercise.
b) I secretly really like jamming to Shakira and Hindi-Salsa fusion.
c) I keep hoping that if I continue to go, I'll loosen up a little. If I can teach my legs, hips, and torso to move independently of one another, maybe when my girlfriends and I go out dancing I can actually join them on the dance floor, rather than my current POA, which is to stand around looking cute while boring the person next to me with stuff I learned in Advanced Linguistics.
 |
| "So you see, that's how the invading Visigoths caused the language to shift from Romantic to Germanic, and- oh no, I've put you in a coma, haven't I?" |
2. Yoga
I started taking yoga as a result of the incessant urging from my friend who just so happens to be a yoga instructor. (Yogis are like Vegans in that they're not satisfied just doing it themselves; they think everyone else should be doing it too.) So I went out, bought a mat and some stretchy pants, and set about finding my inner insert-ridiculous-word-I-can't-pronounce.
Now, I don't consider myself to be a weak person. I spend a considerable portion of my day hauling around a 40lb child and his accoutrement. But as it turns out, I am completely incapable of supporting my entire body weight on one foot while squating and tilting backward at a 90 degree angle. I also have the flexibility of a bullfrog. And finally, being tall is kind of a bummer because I keep running out of mat.
So there I am, crouched on my mat doing the "modified" (read: "weakling") version of a pose, and the 80-year-old lady next to me has her legs tucked behind her head while supporting her entire body on one elbow. Meanwhile, I'm pretty sure my muscles are bleeding.
So why do I keep going?
a) It actually is kind of relaxing.
b) I would like one day to be the 80-year-old woman with the agility of a mongoose.
c) All the cool kids are doing it.
 |
| Which is also the only reason I watched "Sex and the City". |
3. Kickboxing
I'm actually really good at this, most likely due to the fact that the entire sport is defined by stiff, combative movements. It's also one of those sports where being tall is beneficial because I can kick someone 4 feet away.
Lesson learned: I have a lot of pent-up aggression and a fierce right-hook.
Regardless of how horrible I am at various classes, I'm kind of having fun with it, if for no other reason than my gym has free child-care while you work out, which gives me an hour or so without someone begging for cookies or whining to watch "Toy Story" for the billionth time. Also, it kind of gives me a "Remember Caesar, thou art mortal" kind of experience, which in turn moderates my minor superiority complex.
Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go put on my skinny jeans and stare at myself in a mirror, because I know as soon as I stop working out regularly and resume eating refined sugar, I won't be fitting into them anymore.
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