After a long lazy hiatus, I decided that it was time to revisit the gym, on account of I'm getting way out of shape and can't blame hip issues if I'm not doing any PT. Sadly for me, the gym branch closest to the office has been closed. Sure, it was tiny and cramped and had lockers a shade of red nobody's used since those UNITS stores in the '80s, but it didn't get big crowds or much of the singles scene that shows up at other branches. I liked taking classes in the undersized studio, getting my ass kicked by the crazy Polish yoga teacher ("I am fifty-et yirs voman, and all time doink yoga. This poz make you blaht move circle, like diamont") and a Pilates trainer who knew enough variants on the plank position to make Torquemada hang it up. Good times.
But no, now it's a choice between a multistory pickup bar with treadmills and the unofficial gym of Wolfram and Hart. The former is marginally closer; the latter is less likely to involve subtle jockeying for a turn at the elliptical trainers, plus the studio is bigger and doesn't have the threat of disco gels as a lighting option. I lasciated ogni speranza and headed for the haunt of the lobbyists.
I knew that reentry to a weights class was going to suck. But did I suspect what was in store? Did I have any inkling that they'd have a teacher with a dance background filling in for the regular teacher? No. No I did not. If I had, I think I would've done a kick turn back to the cheatable cardio machines, because dancers are evil and highly conversant with ways to make the body feel an astonishing amount of pain. Without going into too much detail, like the part about how a heavily pregnant woman kept up better than I did, I will just admit that I got to that exciting point where you actually cannot stand still without shaking slightly because your muscles are arguing over whether to go to Nebraska or Rhode Island when they flee your sudden insanity, and you are certain, 100% without a doubt, that the next two days are going to be a dark wilderness of pain. (In other words, everyone sharing a car with me on the drive to Newark should probably bring something to cancel the high frequency of my whining tone.)
I should do that more often.
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2 comments:
You just cannot ever adequately prepare for that first time back at weights class. I knew I was in trouble when lil' Joe the Jersey boxer said, "ok, ya gonna jump over the weights bar ok? Like this. Ok, ya gonna do that for five minutes." And that was just the first five minutes.
With this guy the signature move was releves. I think my calves are still working out how to kill me in my sleep.
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