Aerobixxx

I've been trying to get in shape. (What kind of shape?) An isosceles triangle, obviously.

After putting on some pounds and getting winded embarrassingly quickly when physical activity were to occur, I made a concerted effort to exercise more often. After a lot of racquetball and uphill bike riding, I'm pleased to say that I can now move my body and not collapse of exhaustion. Now, I'm still no Lance Armstrong (I've got both testicles, thankyouverymuch), but it is an improvement from the mass of sludge I was a few months ago.

Lindsay instructs an aerobics class at the nearby colleges, and has put out an open invitation to eir friends to come workout. For a while, I've been curious enough to want to try, but too apprehensive to partake because I wasn't sure I had the endurance for an hour of cardio. Once I built up the stamina from other forms of exercise, however, I decided to give it a try.

Lindsay suggested that I bring a water bottle and a leotard. I forgot my water, but made a conscious decision to skip the leotard, considering how ghastly Kat and I looked in leotards about three years ago.

I hadn't showered in a couple of days, and chose not to do so before the class because I would only get sweaty and need another shower soon after. This decision was probably a poor one, as it meant I stunk before we even started, which I'm sure my fellow aerobicisers appreciated. The fellow aerobicisers, by the way, consisted of seven college-aged women. They had attended the previous ten classes and seemed pretty comfortable with the routine.

The aerobics regiment was certainly a work out. We moved hard to Lindsay's cheesy soundtrack for an hour. Every time I wanted to quit, I felt peer pressured to continue. I wasn't about to poop out with all of these people watching me. The self-discipline I tend to lack in these situations was counteracted by my desire to not look like an unhealthy loser.

At one point we were doing push ups on mats and the sweat was pouring off my face like rain down a water spout. Next, we did sit ups, and my already damp back was drenched in the puddle that had formed. I realized that these mats were used frequently and were probably rarely cleaned, so I was overwrought with concern about hygiene, something that rarely happens as evidenced by my not having showered for a while.

Even though I think aerobics is a terrific form of exercise and would definitely help keep me in shape, it is not a practical form for me. I look foolish. Not because of my gender, but because I lack the coordination. While I could keep up physically (sort of), I can't follow steps well. Half the time, I couldn't follow whatever the move being lead us, so I just kept moving in whatever manner I could manage to keep my heart rate up. Even some of the "simple" steps had me baffled. I was always a beat behind, or kicking with the wrong foot, or jumping off the wooden block when I was supposed to cross over with the other leg.

This problem isn't unique to aerobics, I've always been frighteningly uncoordinated.
I've attempted the Electric Slide at least two dozen times in my life and still cannot remember which direction to turn. In camp as a child, I agreed to be the male part in a dance number, but within a week, I was encouraged to sing in the chorus instead, because I wasn't picking up the steps quickly enough -- or at all, truthfully. Furthermore, as I've detailed before, I can't even walk correctly. So while Lindsay insists that with more practice I would get the hang of it, I'm pretty sure I would continue to maneuver like a bumbling idiot. The only thing more embarrassing than being unable to keep up during my first class would be continuing to demonstrate that I can't learn to follow simple, repetitive steps after several classes.