I get my ass kicked.
Everyone around me jumped up and down in Lululemon workout gear, while I sported the very latest in ratty maternity wear circa 2005. Not that I just had a baby or anything as frightening as that. It’s just that all my comfy, old maternity clothes wound up as pajamas which at times double as gym clothes. So you see, I’m not only incredibly fashionable, I’m practical too.
In truth, the ladies weren’t all wearing Lulu. There were some Hard Tails thrown in, one girl brazenly sported Nike and two girls were wearing outfits that I couldn’t determine the brand. I tried to get a close-up look, but it got a little weird. I guess I should have waited till they were done with their squats.
I concentrated on the fashion parade to distract myself from what I was supposed to be doing – exercising in skinny, sadistic Stacy’s boot camp class.
“25 Burpees!” She yells; slim as a string bean with two little peas for boobs and a butt. The biggest thing about her is her mouth.
We hurry to comply and commence with quick jumping squats that plank. Again. Again. Now, I’m no exercise novice but Burpees are something that you can only effectively do if you’re in your 20’s, are super, super fit or are a frog. I am none of the above. When I do a Burpee, it looks more like a Throwupee. I’m a mess; a splatter of limbs on the floor, and I can never keep the pace.
“This is your hour!” Skinny, sadistic Stacy screams. Damn, I think. This is my hour. I look at the clock. Is it almost over? I want another hour, one which involves someone massaging my back and me sighing deeply instead of panting in pain. Why is this my damn hour?
“Squats!” She yells. “Stick out your butt, Ladies! Lower! Again! Again!” She sticks her peas out to demonstrate.
She is the exercise Nazi. You didn’t squat low enough! No breathing for you!
“Run!” She screams, her voice hot on my back. “RUN!!!” She is scary. And loud. I wish there were a skinny, scary, sadist Stacy mute button.
“It’s your hour!!! PICK IT UPPPPPP!” We all run faster. I’m closing in on one of the women whose clothing brand I can’t determine. If I can just get a little closer…
“Jumping JACKS!!! GO!”
She stops short to jump and I crash into her. It’s not pretty, but we both brush it off. There’s no time for injury or conversation in Stacy’s class. I’m jumping. And sweating. And I may have peed in my pants a little. Just a little. My body feels old, but I keep jumping, because SSS Stacy is on my ass. I think I feel my knee give a little. I may fall down. That would be embarrassing. I slow my Jacks, and just do the hands-up part and hope no-one notices. My friend across from me gives me a wink. Of course she notices. She also does kick-ass Burpees.
Finally, thank God, “my hour” is over. I put away my weights and drag my sorry, sweaty, old maternity clothes mess to the exit. I glance in the mirror as one of the Lulu’s pass. She’s perspiring, but her outfit is cute and fitted. She looks good and healthy. I’m sweating like a pig and my clothes hang from me, dampened, like I picked them out of my grandmother’s dirty laundry.
As I hobble out and try to convince my friend to go waste lots of money with me at Lululemon, Stacy overhears and beckons me to her. I’m afraid she’s going to make me drop and do 20, but instead she points to her head and says, “Looking good is up here.”
I nod because I’m afraid of her but after she walks out, I grab my friend to go shopping. She may be right but a good outfit never hurts.
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Alisa Schindler is a SAHM of three boys and wife to Mr. Baseball. In between schlepping to the ball fields and burning cupcakes, she chronicles the sweet and bittersweet of life in the suburbs on her blogIceScreamMama.com. Her essays have been featured online at NYTMotherlode, Washington Post, Mamalode, Scary Mommy and Erma Bombeck’s Writers’ Workshop, as well as Huffington Post and WhatToExpect.com, where she is a regular contributor. She desperately (but in a totally attractive way) hopes to publish one of the manuscripts under her bed that keep her from sleeping.
Yes, those LuLus. Those outfits. Just sayin’. I get it, oh do I get it!
They’re pretty but they’re not good for me.
LOL…this is why I stick to the old lady exercise classes. Most of us need bifocals, so no one can see what I have on.
Also, burpees are of the devil. I actually have a doctor’s pass that says I don’t have to do them. Getting old has its benefits.
Yes! That’s the plan now! Old lady classes! Or no classes! Those burpees should be banned!!
Until my 22 year-old daughter told me what Lululemon was, I thought it was a new water ice, I wanted to try. Then I watched a video of a 77 year-old lady body builder in sparkly spandex and decided water ice was probably more likely my speed. Proud of you girl, for hanging in for your hour. I was going to get a personal trainer today, but now I’m going to get outfits first! Great post! Hilarious!
Ha! You’ve got to look the part! (But, yeah, no spandex please) Good luck with the trainer!!
Yes on ALL counts. I’ve been feeling so sloppy and old the last few weeks at the gym in my baggy t-shirts, but I have a tub full of cute (not as cute as what’s out there now) workout clothes and I refuse to buy new ones. So, I may wear my periodic table, avengers, and Fall Out Boy (my 12yo daughter’s) shirts forever! ;-) Great post!
Thanks! So funny! I actually have some better work out clothes but for some reason I think they’re too new or pretty to actually wear! What’s wrong with me?! ;)
Hey Leah – I just complimented you on the Periodic Table shirt…..BAWHHH.
This morning I worked out next to a gorgeous woman that I call fancy pants….she had the best work out pants and she didn’t sweat either….. executed each exercise in the barre class with the flawless precision of a 12 year old Russian Ballerina. I wear 10 year old black yoga pants from Target so basically you and I are twins.
Heh – precisely why I exercise at home! First time I heard “burpees” I thought it was something for a baby.
And definitely the bottom photo – that’s me. :D
You are brave to still take classes. I avoid them at all costs and go straight to the stairmaster. That way I can go at my own pace and people-watch all the LuLu people at the same time – it’s a win/win!
Throwupee…I know it well. Throw up on the way down, pee a little on the way up! Thanks for the laugh.