There is something to be said about going to a group fitness class.
I have to admit that my best friend Kathy and I didn’t know what to expect from the core progression we attended, but it wasn’t the group fitness class we had in mind.
I was thinking about all of those movies we watched back in the eighties where all of the girls wore their leg warmers and headbands. They always had tights and skin tight leotards in animal print or bright neon colors. Their hair perfectly coiffed and in ponytails or bouncy and full. None of them ever seemed to sweat, but they all worked out like they were all personal trainers. We were right about the sweating and being perfectly coiffed and we were also right that there was no way we were going to fit in. We wore t-shirts and stretch pants. We brought towels so we didn’t have puddles underneath us when we sweat too much. One of the girls told us that women perspired as she sneered at us. I really think they were all there to lay the make on the poor unsuspecting personal trainer we had. He was young, built like an Adonis and beautiful. They went through the motions, but there was more flirting than exercising. Kathy and I had the guts to approach him after fitness class and invite him out for a beer and to share a pizza. You would have thought we had asked him to kill someone by the looks we got from the rest of the group. It was even more laughable when he said he would love to join us.