Friday, June 11, 2010


          Mouth agape, I observed the bodies gyrating in unison in front of me: leg raise, lunge, step-ball-change, step-ball-change, step-ball change, jump! My legs were doing something, but it certainly was NOT in any way similar to the instructor's motions. I stood so far in the back of the room (for fear that I might be seen) that it was difficult to hear what the over-enthusiastic trainer yelled into her microphone headset, and I certainly couldn't see her. I was therefore forced to imitate the movements of the woman who was exercising directly ahead. Trying to keep up was a joke- I'm not even sure that I remembered how to skip (which happened to be the principal move from which all the other maneuvers were based). Turning around to retrieve my water bottle, I nearly collided with a middle-aged woman who assured me that “everyone starts out that way.” But I know the truth.

          Uncoordinated, unbalanced, and unable to memorize simple dance moves, it seemed ridiculous that I thought this class was something that I could benefit from. When we were finally finished, the instructor averted her eyes so that they wouldn't make contact with mine. A sweaty man smiled at me as we both placed our resistance bands back in the cardboard box. “It takes about ten sessions until you really get the hang of this Jazzercise thing.” Ten session! No thank you- I think I'll just stick to the treadmill. At least it doesn't force you to cavort around the gym like a bewildered invertebrate...


  1. I wish I was able to witness this endeavor

  2. The gym would make a lot of money if they offered DVDs of the classes (or just the people taking them).

  3. I totally feel you! My mom did Jazzercise for years and LOVED it! But every time I went I felt like a goofball!


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