Friday, September 20 – What the F.R.A.K. was THAT?!
By the way, F.R.A.K. means – “For real? Aren’t kidding?”
That was what I was saying at my first experience of a fitness phenomenon called “Body Pump.” To backtrack a little (while I still have use of my arms and legs…) I want to increase my cardio by doing Zumba. It’s fun. I want to increase by flexibility with Yoga. But I have friends who are into weight-lifting. Good for upper body strength, and hey, a free class. Why not try?!
O.M.G. (Oh my goodness.)
I walked into the class and saw that there were two kinds of people. Very young women who looked like Olympians. Nope, I didn’t fit into that group. The others were women my age who looked like they parked their cars by simply picking them up and positioning them – yes, they looked like nurses. (Not fat, just very muscular.)
I fit into neither category. The instructor, who I adore, Cee, is pregnant, has a toddler, and had just driven in from Azilda for a 9 am class. Yes, she is Superwoman. I felt like I was definitely on the wrong planet, but I was there - so darn the torpedoes, full speed ahead.
Thankfully I was instantly adopted by two young athletes who got me set up and kept an eye on me, much as you would a Golden Retriever with moderate dementia. That is certainly how I felt. Cee gave the usual warnings and got the music going…and up and down and up and down go the barbells and many body parts.
For the first half-hour I felt I could do the “fake it until you make it” thing, and then I lost it. One of the goddesses tried to help me have good form while we did the “on the back” presses, but I eventually had to waive her off. I decided I would just lie there with the barbells on my chest and hallucinate. Which I think I did, because I recall that the next thing we had to do were pushups and planks with modifications to work a broader spectrum of muscles. I laid on my stomach, put my head on my fists and wiggled a little. I was done.
There are very few times I have had to admit defeat in my life. Once was in Grade 11 physics (but the teacher was awful.) What was the other time? I’ve had molars removed in the dental chair without being knocked out; I’ve had natural childbirth four times; I got 80s in organic and inorganic chemistry in first year university; and I’ve driven to Toronto and back in rush-hour, helping Anna move – all in one day.
That does it. Body Pump, your sass is grass, and I’m the mower. OK, more like next time I’m going to sit on the grass for part of the class and watch Cee very carefully. And I think I’ll find myself some Original Series Star Trek dumbbells. (By this I mean styrofoam.)
*****
I am happy to say I had a Zumba class after that. The hour flew by; I could Zumba for hours. Not well and not energetically, but play “Shake It” or “Moves Like Jagger” and I think I’m whirling around plates of sandwiches at the All Peoples United Church Tea. (Hey, I’m 56! And I enjoy serving!)
I’m in luck this Sunday. There’s a Zumbathon at the Steelworkers Hall in support of the Northern Cancer Research Foundation. I don’t have what it takes to go around collecting money. (That’s the second thing that has defeated me – raising money!) But I’m happy to write a cheque and dance around until they’re ready to close the place down.
I really want my hubs Laur to join me. He says he’s told old. Bah! Frederick James Salter passed his IDTA Gold Bar Level 3 examinations in Latin and Ballroom with Honours - at the age of 100 years 245 days.
Mind you, he only started dancing after his wife died eleven year ago. Perhaps Laurence is merely waiting for a better dance partner…
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9sDGVR6vrpg
That was what I was saying at my first experience of a fitness phenomenon called “Body Pump.” To backtrack a little (while I still have use of my arms and legs…) I want to increase my cardio by doing Zumba. It’s fun. I want to increase by flexibility with Yoga. But I have friends who are into weight-lifting. Good for upper body strength, and hey, a free class. Why not try?!
O.M.G. (Oh my goodness.)
I walked into the class and saw that there were two kinds of people. Very young women who looked like Olympians. Nope, I didn’t fit into that group. The others were women my age who looked like they parked their cars by simply picking them up and positioning them – yes, they looked like nurses. (Not fat, just very muscular.)
I fit into neither category. The instructor, who I adore, Cee, is pregnant, has a toddler, and had just driven in from Azilda for a 9 am class. Yes, she is Superwoman. I felt like I was definitely on the wrong planet, but I was there - so darn the torpedoes, full speed ahead.
Thankfully I was instantly adopted by two young athletes who got me set up and kept an eye on me, much as you would a Golden Retriever with moderate dementia. That is certainly how I felt. Cee gave the usual warnings and got the music going…and up and down and up and down go the barbells and many body parts.
For the first half-hour I felt I could do the “fake it until you make it” thing, and then I lost it. One of the goddesses tried to help me have good form while we did the “on the back” presses, but I eventually had to waive her off. I decided I would just lie there with the barbells on my chest and hallucinate. Which I think I did, because I recall that the next thing we had to do were pushups and planks with modifications to work a broader spectrum of muscles. I laid on my stomach, put my head on my fists and wiggled a little. I was done.
There are very few times I have had to admit defeat in my life. Once was in Grade 11 physics (but the teacher was awful.) What was the other time? I’ve had molars removed in the dental chair without being knocked out; I’ve had natural childbirth four times; I got 80s in organic and inorganic chemistry in first year university; and I’ve driven to Toronto and back in rush-hour, helping Anna move – all in one day.
That does it. Body Pump, your sass is grass, and I’m the mower. OK, more like next time I’m going to sit on the grass for part of the class and watch Cee very carefully. And I think I’ll find myself some Original Series Star Trek dumbbells. (By this I mean styrofoam.)
*****
I am happy to say I had a Zumba class after that. The hour flew by; I could Zumba for hours. Not well and not energetically, but play “Shake It” or “Moves Like Jagger” and I think I’m whirling around plates of sandwiches at the All Peoples United Church Tea. (Hey, I’m 56! And I enjoy serving!)
I’m in luck this Sunday. There’s a Zumbathon at the Steelworkers Hall in support of the Northern Cancer Research Foundation. I don’t have what it takes to go around collecting money. (That’s the second thing that has defeated me – raising money!) But I’m happy to write a cheque and dance around until they’re ready to close the place down.
I really want my hubs Laur to join me. He says he’s told old. Bah! Frederick James Salter passed his IDTA Gold Bar Level 3 examinations in Latin and Ballroom with Honours - at the age of 100 years 245 days.
Mind you, he only started dancing after his wife died eleven year ago. Perhaps Laurence is merely waiting for a better dance partner…
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9sDGVR6vrpg