Danger: 4/10 (heart attack)
Excitement: 2/10
Satisfaction: 4/10
To be repeated: 8/10 (a la ‘Bring it on’)
Ever felt like an imposter? I just finished my first ever aerobics class, and I can’t help but feel I may have stood out somewhat. I was the wrong gender, the wrong shape, out of time and usually doing something completely different to the perky pixie running the show and her campy offside. It was ugly, man. I think my gut was still jiggling an hour afterwards.
But FUCK, it was some work out. I was left completely wasted. I would have posted this earlier, but every muscle from the souls of my feet to the tips of my fingers has been stiff for the last six days. If I wasn’t completely incapacitated I’m sure I would have felt much fitter for the work out.
Still, at this point I’d like to send a shout-out to my mates Dels Gherkin, who should have been named Dels Beetroot for her superb body-attack efforts, and Lexi Criddle, who has never ever looked so good in a pair of flesh-toned stubbies. High-five ladies.
In all seriousness, there are plenty of clichés and stereo-types I’d love to make the butt of some jokes, but I can’t do it. They out jumped, pumped, grapevined, push-uped, pliared and can-canned me for a grueling sixty minutes. Respect.
I do notice that not many of the blokes have got the knack to the dancy excersize class, must have something to do with those exterior bits sending mixed messages "1,2,3,kick...wow pretty chicks...1,2,3 clap kick...wow pretty chicks excersizing" keep up the hard work.
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