After five years concentrated effort of yoga and tango, a year of juicing, cutting back on wheat and dairy, avoiding sugar, and giving up sodas and artificial sweeteners to lose weight, all completely unsuccessfully; (zilch, zero, nada, nothing, failure, no progress- just so we’re clear) I decided that after 5 years of that I was now engaged in this diabolical and biological game of Jenga. If I would just keep pulling the biological blocks from the fat tower, eventually the fat tower will come tumbling down.
Hence my decision to increase from one yoga class a week to three and to add two Zumba classes a week. I said, “self, we’ll lose weight, or kill ourselves doing it”.
I’m discussing a festive memorial service with Leah and Rachel, preferably one that involves liquor, and a pinata filled with travel sized portions of astro glide and mini vibrators. Why, by the way, don’t funeral homes have liquor licenses? God knows, if there’s a place you could use a drink and a bar, it’s before after and during a wake-funeral and it would be tremendous money maker for them. Would love meeting the bartender at the funeral home bar. Wow, that would be some stories. Anyway, that’s another post….
So, as usual, get to class a little early, meet someone new, who comes flying in like Sally Field as Gidget on an overdose of cocaine and adderall who says, “is this your first time”. As some of you know, I always lie and say yes, partially because I am so bad at this no one can tell, and partially because I’m so amused by what they say to Zumba virgins. “We don’t get many men here”, she says. I look around at all the wedding rings in sight and think, “you should probably be happy with the ones you already got”, but I smile, and nod with that look like I’ve just had electric shock therapy.
Class begins. I’m going to pace myself, I vow. Breathe in through my nose, control my pranayama. Good yogic breathing. Listen to my body. Focus on my heart rate. Enter a meditative state. This is all going great. For the first four measures and 45 seconds of the first song. I come to from my meditative state to realize my yogic breathing is hyperventilating like a 12 year old girl at a Justin bieber concert and I’m sweating like Governor Christie after a day outdoors cutting ribbons at the jersey shore trying to drive past his third KFC without stopping. Yeah, ya bastard, ya got a lap band, but that fried chicken is still in your brain…..
Actually, I’m noticing I can actually function about 15 minutes before my body starts pleading like a little girl for the nearest ICU. The room is PACKED. Knowing women do THIS AND give birth I’m convinced the only reason they are not President/dictator of every country and CEO of every corporation is because they don’t want to. Lean in? Wow, lay off the speed why dontcha?
i’m also starting to recognize some of the songs. Not the obvious pop songs like maroon five’s “moves like jagger” (not the version you’re thinking of —the remix- where Adam Levine and Enrique Iglesias are doing the remix for their gay wedding and reception n Spanish Harlem) but the ones that I previously never heard of, but they’re catchy and you try to mouth the lyrics like you follow along to a really great dashboard video of a sobriety test from a highway patrolman’s car.
I look at clock. Only 30 min have passed. 25 to go. I now start to move like a beat cop who’s been assigned fair traffic direction duty two days before retirement.
“We all live in a yellow submarine”.