Cocktails with that Karaoke?

I made good on my threat to attend the gym today. I am feeling it so bad/good, that I am actually writing this laid out flat on my back in bed because I am wiped out.

I was early, and when I walked into the cycling class, there were one or two other people there. Then the instructor showed up, and I told her that I had taken one cycling class about 12 years ago and to please forgive me if I left early. She had a slightly kooky, fun personality, with spiky platinum hair and she was all tatted out. She turned on the music and one of my all times faves, Mr. Blue Sky, started playing and at that point I made a promise to stay for the whole class, whether I could keep up or not. Class had not yet begun, and as she walked by me, I said, “Hey! You’re playing one of my favorite songs ever, this is a good sign.” She responded, “Oh, this is the previous instructor’s music. I’ve got great music – you’ll love it. I’ve got something for everyone – even country.” Eewww. I had an uneasy feeling about that one. She went on to explain, “I have fun country music, not the old stuff like Reba McEntire.” Gulp. I was even more dismayed when she yanked the Van Halen tune playing to put on her own “great music” as class began. She was quite the funny extrovert, though, telling us that when we stood up to cycle, we should imagine getting a “love tap” on our butts for 45 minutes. She went on, “I don’t even get that and I’m married.” I’m pretty sure she is married to a woman, and I don’t really want to think too much about the workings of a butt tap between two women, as I’m guessing there may be marital aids involved, and the closest I’ve ever come to a marital aid is an electric shoulder massager. I’m just sayin’.

We did “endurance” training. Of course, everything is endurance training for me, especially when I also have to endure really, really bad hip hop and pop. Don’t get me wrong – I love good hip hop and pop (Big K.R.I.T., anyone?), but I think I know the difference. I was certain I knew the difference when she tortured me with her “fun” country music – Pour Me and My Give A Damn’s Busted. I was really content just having heard of those songs. It wasn’t enough that (a) I was totally embarrassed by my wimpy cycling, (b) my ass hurt, (c) I was sitting behind a perky, perfect-bodied, ponytailed twit who moved her legs at 90mph and kept her hands clasped behind her back when standing and spinning (obviously a college student, undoubtedly pre-law). The worst of it was that the instructor sang along! Ack! I felt like I was at a bad country music karaoke bar. I guess if you’re going to go to the gym, you have to learn to live with bad music if you’re taking a class. The other thing that bugged me was the semi-see through showers. I don’t really dig anyone seeing me wash my ta-ta. But a gal’s gotta have good hygiene, so what was I to do?

There were a few upsides besides the fact that I actually stayed (and yes, exercised) for the whole class. I sat next to a cute 20-something John Krasinski look-alike. Swoon. I was surprised that I was not the oldest nor the heaviest at the club or in the class. I met a really nice lady in the locker room who has a weight issue too and we yucked it up a bit and traded war stories about our love affair with Taco Bell.

The class did end on a good note, literally. The last song was Word Up by Cameo. Brought back some memories. And with that, I wish you goodnight. W-O-R-D Up!