The gym gods must hate me
Somewhere, somehow in my 29 years on this Earth, I must have pissed off the deities of the gym. That’s the only explanation of my gym experiences this year. First was the MidgetMencia trainer/self-esteem guru and last night I got to meet another delightful member of the training staff: Fattie McChunky.
Last weekend was the yearly company event (think Spring Break for adults) and I won’t be recounting any of the drunken drama that came of that evening other than to say that I will be wearing a suit of armor next year and possibly Eau de Mace. However, thanks to Pithy x 10, the weekend inspired me to look into exercise boot camps. Pithy x 10 has done at least 3 boot camps and listening to her tell me about her experiences really made me want to go to one.
I started looking and found one in Silver Spring, which is convenient commute wise, but not so convenient price wise. In lieu of a boot camp, I decided to take advantage of the fitness class that Gold’s Gym offers. I’d taken a few in the past, with the only one I really liked being the Zumba classes. Last night I decided to give the Abs class a try.
I settled down on my little mat and did my little stretches and waited for the instructor to appear. Soon a large, chunky, beaner-looking dude appeared and started chatting w/ various members of the class. I ignored him as this overweight and beer-belly sporting yapper was obviously partaking in the class since he was sporting the type of girth that warrants a t-shirt that says “This isn’t a beer belly; it’s a gas tank for a love machine.”
It soon became apparent that my hopes of an Adonis-like instructor with beautiful, golden Gerard Butler-in-300 abs would be demolished as my Tommy Boy-esque instructor started the class. Now, I know I really don’t have a lot of room to say anything since I am so not in shape, but seriously, how am I supposed to get motivated for a class when the instructor’s UnderArmour-clad fupa and love handles are jiggling away like a Jell-o cup in the hands of a Parkinson’s patient???
I was so aggravated by him and his military style shouting of “Three, two, one” (I was expecting to hear “from the halls of Montezuma” as the follow up to his countdown) that I really did not enjoy the class, nor did I really try. Plus half the moves required planking positions that I fail at in so many ways. I will try the class again though, but this time I’ll go to the back of the room and try to face away from Tubby McShouty.
And possibly blindfold myself. We’ll see.