The Voice Inside My Head

Just got Louder

Given the empty, carpeted room filled with mirrors and ballet barres, this would have been a perfect setting for an “I Love Lucy” episode. The simple premise of an out of shape middle aged woman attempting to keep up with a class that is made up mostly of girls half her age and having nothing but a barre to hold on to for dear life creates enough of a setup. Throw me in the mix, and you have physical comedy.

Here I was dressed in sheer black leggings and a sports bra type top from when I used to run on my treadmill at my home in France. That this was nearly twenty years ago shows you just how long ago I took my physical fitness (or my fitness attire shopping) very seriously. I’m not sure which is worse: the fact that I have clothing that is older than most of my classmates or that I am still wearing it.

There were at least 20 of us in the introductory class, dressed in various states of “I know what I’m doing”. I was certainly dead last in that category. I also ranked dead last in terms of age, being the oldest. How I didn’t end up just plain dead is nothing short of a miracle.

I thought I would pretend to be cool and stretch. I sat on the floor and opened my legs so I could pretend that I had a clue where this class was going. I was absolutely mortified to look at myself in the mirror and discover that my black leggings were completely transparent. When I realized that there was only one woman in that room who still has pubic hair and that woman was me, I almost died. All this horror before the class even got started.
In walked the teacher.

Anyone wearing one of those headset thingies is a dominatrix waiting to happen. The perfectly toned instructor with the perky, upbeat voice was no exception. She was warm and welcoming. And then she got started. Everything in that introductory class went by so quickly and with such great intensity, the best way I can describe it is by what my mind and body were saying (actually screaming) to me while I frantically pretended to keep up. What follows are some of the thoughts that ran through my head, a la Lucy Ricardo:
I can do this.
This is not as easy as it looks. Maybe she won’t notice that I’m uncoordinated.
Man, I’m really uncoordinated.

Why am I the only one breathing heavily and sweating? I am so out of shape.

I don’t have enough water to get through the next five minutes.

We still have 57 more to go.

I hate this woman with the perky personality and perfect butt.

By minute four of the class, I wanted to stuff the instructor full of Twinkies, arrange to have her kidnapped and make her spend an hour with my boss to experience real torture. By minute seven, I changed my mind. I wanted to gift my boss an hour of Cardio Barre class with her instead.

This mirror hates me.

I don’t even understand a word you’re saying, lady. I’m still back at minute one.

There is no way I am ever going to catch on to any of this. EVER.

You call this an “Intro class”? I don’t have a friggin’ clue how to do any of these things!

I can’t even fake doing any of these things. It’s THAT hard.

How many more reps? Really?

Who taught you how to count, lady? You said that those were the “last eight”!!

16 more, my ass. Even great sex doesn’t hurt this much. Or last this long.

I. Can’t. Do. This. Ever. Again.

My butt is on fire and my legs feel like Jell-O.

Holy crap! What do you mean, “NOW we are going to go into the cardio portion?!” My heart has beaten so hard and fast in the past 12 minutes that it’s already 73 years old.

Note to self: Update will. You are about to drop dead.

Are fucking kidding me? Really??!! We are still on this leg?

I will do anything to make this pain stop. Please. Make. It. Stop. NOW.

This part I can do. Ha! My stomach is way stronger than I thought. Who knew?! Take that, you teenagers.

I was obviously wrong about that, too.

If I have to do one more of these, I will throw up.

No. YOU hold this for a minute longer.

I know I still have legs because I can see them, but I can’t feel them. At all.

There is no way I can do 10 of these classes. I wonder if I can sell the other nine.

(The next 20 minutes are a blur. I can assure you there was pain, gasping for breath, cursing underneath it and hating every single part of my body.)

Cool down, my grandmother. I will have to move to the Arctic Circle to cool down from this. Haven’t you heard of menopause?

Can I just sleep here until next April?

These people may be clapping because this class is over. I’m clapping because I’m glad I’m still alive. Barely.
You get the picture. It wasn’t pretty. When I managed to pick myself up from the floor and make my way out to the parking lot, I was nauseous, sweaty and shaking. I could barely walk straight.

In my 53 years, I’ve never even left a regular bar in this kind of shape. It was that brutal.

That day, my body taught me something that the voice inside my head already knew: Life is hard. Cardio Barre is harder.