Wednesday, March 24, 2010

A Class of a Different Sort

In a renewed effort to slim my ever expanding waistline, I signed up at a new gym. They're known for having awesome classes, which, coupled with consuming only broccoli for weeks on end, is my ticket to tiny.
So after, yes AFTER, my riding lesson I made my way over to the gym for the "Strip Bar" class. I wasn't worried about what the class may involve (I can shimmy with the best of them), but I was a little concerned about being "out stripped." Whenever I see ads for these classes, they seem to involve a lot of spandex and abs and I was not about to bare my tummy to a class full of strangers.
Turns out, that should have been the least of my concern.
It was a class full of teenage cheerleaders! Not only was I the widest, I also towered over everyone by at least a foot.
We started by dancing around a body bar (weighted bar about 3ft tall), stopping once in awhile to swing our hair around (difficult to do when it's in a bun- I may have looked like I had some sort of tic- perhaps something to practice in the mirror before next class). When we added some hops and squats, I began to enjoy myself.
That enjoyment abruptly ceased when the instructor said, "For the second half of the class I will teach you a dance." "To Shakira."
I am a terrible dancer. I go left while everyone else goes right. Consistently 2 counts behind the beat.
I exchanged eye rolls with the "normal" people in the class. Then proceeded to hoist myself up and down off of the ground for the next 30 minutes like a clumsy elephant while the class danced blithely around me.
It may be my imagination, but my jeans feel a little less snug this morning. So bring it on pint-sized strippers. I'll see you next week!