Pound

I’m down at a ‘city’ nearby Mayberry, visiting Ardith, one of my high school besties. Since most of my time around the Mayberry area consists of eating fried cheese and drinking beer, I took advantage of being in a ‘city’ and went to a real gym (i.e.: not the treadmill in MamaG’s basement). I walked in right as the class started, which is not my jam (I’m an early bird kinda gal), and it was my first time at this gym, so I was slightly intimidated, and not sure what to expect. Would the people be nice or rude? Would I be the fattest person in the class? Would I be wearing the craziest pants (Bev loves workout pants with wild prints on them)? Would I be able to hack the workout? Will there be any partner work (please, God, NO)? 

Most of my fears were put at ease as soon as I walked in the room, as the average age of the class participants was probably 51 (and this is after my 33-year-old ass arrived). One older lady was wearing a shirt that said #NoDaysOff with white leggings with flamingos on them. She was definitely my favorite.

It took me a millisecond to acclimate to the room, and I was kind of scanning the other people to see what equipment we needed. It turns out, everyone was super nice, and quickly told me to grab a mat and drumsticks. Yes. Drumsticks. 

I am honestly not even sure how I can try to begin to explain this class to you, but if you’ve ever done a jazz routine that includes squats, lunges, and drumsticks, then that’s it. Oh, and every song opens with “chest openers”- aka, you tap your drumsticks in front, and push your elbows back like you’re back in 7th grade, trying to make it look like you actually have boobs.

Let’s just say this. It was a workout, all right. A cheek workout from trying not to explode in laughter every 30-45 seconds, and look like a total asshole in front of your new best friend.

#NoDaysOff

-Bev