I take strength-training classes at a local fitness center on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays when WCK is in preschool. The Monday class is a normal exercise class, taught by a young woman with zero-percent body fat who likes to yell at us to "hustle". I can never quite bring myself to the "hustle" level, but I also don't lie down on the floor and die, which is what I feel like doing, so that must count for something.
She also plays really loud music that makes no sense and goes "thumpa thumpa thumpa."
The class on Wednesdays and Fridays, however, is filled with people who are at least 30 years older than I am. Maybe 40. Even the instructor is getting up there. She's often saying things like, "Somebody turn on a fan; I'm having a hot flash!" She likes to tell us how working our biceps will help us with important activities around the house, such as lifting our grandchildren. We do exercises that are supposed to keep us from breaking a hip.
Please don't think I'm mocking this class. I came to the horrible discovery that this class is much more my speed. I don't feel like dying at the end; I feel highly successful that I made it through a workout. And some of these older ladies are much stronger than I am. I know the instructor could kick my butt, hot flashes and all. Plus, she plays greatest hits of the '80s, which I enjoy. I can feel the St. Elmo's fire burnin' in me.
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