I am pissed. Not pissed as in drunk pissed, pissed as in really really angry. Although maybe getting pissed (this time the drunk kind) will help with my anger. We just started our aerobics classes at the sports center again, and everything is completely screwed up. Last year our instructor, Susana, convinced us to try a new system; instead of two days of aerobics and one of step, we would get from 5:30 to 9:30, five days a week. That way we would be able to pick and choose from the different activities and the times. She promised us aerobics, step, G.A.P (we could already feel our buns and tummies of steel), and Body Pump (visions of sleek muscular bodies danced in our heads...well, a girl's gotta dream, right?) We had our first meeting and she dropped the bomb on us: she's taking a year off after 11 years in this place. Seems she was having differences of opinion with the administration about salary and hours, so she just took a leave of absence. Where does that leave us? We now have three different instructors and they changed all the classes around. Now I can't go to some of the activities I want, and I have to do a lot of juggling to fit in the rest. Okay, juggling's good exercise, so maybe I don't need so many classes. But juggling is not going to help keep my butt from becoming the size of a boat, so I guess I'll just have to put up with it...As we say here, "¡Ajo y agua!" ("Garlic and water!", which is short for "a joderse y aguantarse" -roughly translated means: "Screw yourself and hang in there!")
The first girl that came was a beautiful Russian girl with a headful of tiny braids covering her blond head. She took our breath away, literally. She pushed us through what made her look like poetry in motion, and what made us look like a bunch of sweating, spastic ducks. But hey, I can deal with that. If she makes us sweat and we can hope to someday look a fraction as good as she does, then I'm happy. But, as it turns out, she only comes on Friday from 5:30 to 6:30, so I'm thinking, hey, maybe the other instructors will be just as good and I'll go at a more convenient time. Okay, so I go to another class, which was supposed to be Body Pump, but they renamed it Body Tonic since Body Pump is a registered trademark, and they can't use it. They did promise it would be the same, so I went. The same, my ass! Which is how my ass will stay if I keep going to that class. The girl that gave the class must have thought we were all little old grannies, because we came out without batting an eyelash...boring, not to mention useless. I mean, we're not a bunch of teenagers, but we're hardly ready for Exercises for the Elderly. So, we've got one really great instructor that only gives one class a week and another that gives most of the toning classes who is mediocre at best (my visions of buns of steel are melting faster than the Wicked Witch of the West). Not looking good so far.
So I decide to see what's behind door number three: our new aerobics teacher for Monday through Thursday. I walk into the class and see a young guy, and think, "Hmmm, interesting, I've never done aerobics with a guy before." Five minutes into the class, we were all giving each other looks of disbelief. This poor guy was absolutely pathetic. He had about as much grace as an elephant in a tulip field, he kept forgetting the steps, and was completely out of sync with the music. I started looking around thinking we might be on one of those candid camera shows, but if there was a camera I sure couldn't find it. It felt like we were warming up to play football or something, and I kept wondering if he was going to pull out a ball and yell "Goal!" He told us that it was his first time teaching aerobics, so I kind of felt sorry for him, but I felt sorrier for me (after all I know me much better than I know him). I only hope for his girlfriend's sake that he wasn't that pitiful the first time...oh well, I'll leave that problem up to her.
Now, I'm stuck with classes that will never get me the perfectly sculpted body that we were sold when we signed up (okay, it's an unrealistic goal, but at least the illusion was there). It's either that, or I go sign up at a private gym, which means getting on the bus and losing lots of time going back and forth. If only our pathetic instructor could be something like this:
Even if we didn't get the perfect body, it would still be a whole lot more interesting than what we've got now. And if you are looking for buns of steel, then head on over to Scrivel, you'll laugh those extra pounds right off.