Spring renovations

The stores are filling with springtime fashions. What are those insane designers going to make us wear this year? Well, the good news is that it looks like snakeskin is going, going, gone. Yes, that is a blessing but the bad news is that the fashion gods seem to have created even smaller skirts and fashions than last year. Okay, so now what to do, I asked myself. Suffer in last year’s reptile fashions or fight back with some figure-enhancing workouts? There didn’t seem to be much choice, so I mustered up some strength and formulated a plan. I had to pull myself together and join the dreaded gym.

I figured if I was going to put myself through all of the pain and suffering, then I must do it wearing the latest in workout apparel. I wondered what the Cathy Lee work out collection had lined up for spring. I hit the mall and grabbed some stuff off of the rack and wondered if Kathy Lee really ever wears this stuff in front of her personal trainer.

On to the gym I went. Age and experience told me that you never want to get to a gym during the busy times. There is just too much risk involved. You are certain to see everyone you know. I scanned the room to see if there was any one who is too skinny or will know me. The coast looked clear so I wandered over to the desk. The woman behind the desk smiled in greeting. She stood up and was about a size-nothing. Okay, I already knew I needed some work, that’s why I was there, right? Well, I thought, at least I can go in anonymously.

“Hey, don’t I know you from somewhere?” she said to me in an almost too perky tone.

This was like my worst nightmare turning into a reality. “I don’t think so,” I said, hoping that she was wrong.

“No I used to be in your English class in high school, remember?”

Okay, there was no place left to hide, I had to face this obstacle. I really hated to admit it, but the woman did look great. She was just about half of the person that I remembered. Now I was truly inspired. She gave me a list of the classes. First, was yoga, followed by something called “guts and butts.”

“Sorry,” she said, “but you missed the spin class.”

Well I didn’t want to sound out of touch with reality but I really didn’t know what “spin” is. The last time that I was brave enough to work out I was in a step class. That’s the one that you have to do coordinated movements on a block of wood without getting dizzy or falling on anyone. I fell into three senior citizens who were all in really good shape. There was no way I was spinning anywhere.

I thought I should just start with yoga. Besides, I thought, isn’t that the thing that Madonna does? I wandered into the yoga class. I’m no fool, if I was going to seize up, then I wanted to be standing next to someone who was as out of shape as me. I was in luck, there was one such woman. I wandered over and sat next to her on my floor mat.

Soothing music, cushy floor mats, this does seem to be my exercise. “First you learn to breathe,” the instructor said. Breathe, just breathe, I can do this. I have been breathing for most of my life anyway.

“Remain sitting, tuck your left leg under your right, and then place your right leg over the top of your left.” I couldn’t do this gracefully, so I just grabbed my knee and hoped for the best. I got it. That’s not too bad, I thought, if I never have to stand again.

“Lean forward and breathe.” Now I saw the catch. If I leaned forward and stretched, then there was no way that I’d have any room to breathe. She never said where to place the tummy? Maybe the catch was that I was supposed to leave it in the guts and butts room? I glanced up at the mirror on the wall; my face was a really nice shade of red.

I knew that my size-nothing friend was peeking from some place. I couldn’t seem to get my breath and put my tummy someplace in the middle. I could do it if I held my breath, but if I exhaled, I’d be in trouble. I just knew I was going to pass out from lack of oxygen. Then there were the spots before my eyes. The lack of oxygen had created spots that looked like they were from the game, Twister. That’s the solution, right hand red, left foot blue, tummy on green. That’s it; I had to think Twister.

Oh no, the rest of the class was standing. I couldn’t do that unless I rocked a few times. I thought that might be tacky, but it was either rock or seize up forever in that position. Okay, the newcomer is making grunting noises, the other students must have been thinking. She must have forgotten to breath; poor woman will be stuck for a while.

Finally standing I felt pretty good, but I knew that the next day at work I would probably seize up at my desk. My size-nothing friend returned. “Next week be sure to try the kick boxing class,” she said. The color had finally returned to my face, and I wondered to myself, was last year’s snake skin really all that bad?