I do not, under any circumstances want to do Zumba with you. Workout classes, I am sorry to say, are the opiate of the already fit, or the already thin, if we are being quite honest with ourselves. I know. I know I am allowed to “go on my own pace” in theory. But in practice, you want me to keep up with people who can do that thing where you hold your leg up in the air while standing. The cheerleader thing. You know what I am talking about. My hips need to be opened? They are open, and even if they needed to be opened, I am not trying to solve that in front of twenty-five other people in a mirrored room. Certain things just don’t make sense. Like earlier today when I googled “what to do when ants invade your home” and got an Amazon recommendation for “vagina oil”. My first thought was: What on God’s still somewhat intact earth do you need vagina oil for? What does it….do? Do vaginas need oiling like the Tin Man? Per their website, their oil “smooths, brightens, and moisturizes vulva and labial skin”. What does this mean? Is the vulva meant to shine like a Batman signal in the night? Do people these days believe they had a bad, un-oiled vagina? Sorry, I got off on a tangent here. Back to the gym.
Why the hell would I want to work out with other people? Every friend of mine tells me, “It is not competitive – just focus on yourself; no one is looking at you.” That’s bullshit and we all know it. If I was really focused on me, there wouldn’t be mirrors and there wouldn’t be other people and here wouldn’t be an instructor at the front of the room with a Britney Spears headset on, shouting inspirations at me. Everyone is checking each other out. We are human!
I took a couple of Zumba classes in New York at the urging of a friend of mine to check out the “hot instructor”; it was a full-frontal nightmare. Not only was I red, sweaty, and wondering what I am doing the entire time, but I never got the moves. I looked like a clown having either a tantrum or an exercise-induced asthma attack. I could never tell what I was supposed to do when the instructor was facing me. Did I have to reverse his moves and mirror him? What was the plan here? He was hot, though.
I don’t mind working out. I like it when I go for a nice run in nature because it makes me feel good after I am done. Workouts are a necessary part of my life that I do a couple of times a week if I can and if I cannot, oh fucking well. There was a time when I worked out every day. Every single day! I lived in a building in New York with a gym. This gym had glass walls, which I guess are technically just windows. Everybody could see in because of all the windows. Who designs something like this?
I felt shitty about it, but I was also trying to get fit. What I don’t like at the gym: the smell. And most of the people. Again, I prefer nature. So, when I still had this gym membershi(t)p I was using an arm machine; I don’t like using any machines other than cardio machines, because the bigger weight machines are usually dominated by men. Some men make going to the gym a living hell; however, with a gym that’s open 24/7 like the glass box was, you can usually stay up late enough on a Friday or Saturday that no one is there. One day, I decided, due to a distinct lack of men around, to try using a weight machine. No one else was in the gym with me.
I sat down on one of those arm machines where you face the machine. You know when people have sex in movies where one person is sitting on the other person’s lap? Well, this is what it looks like when you sit on this workout machine. You sit on the machine’s lap and then you reach your arms around like a big sex hug. Of course, eventually, the idea is to pull your arms back in sort of a rowing motion. I started with zero kilos to make sure I got the vibe. Good to go. And then I upped the weight to twenty kilos. And then I upped it again and again. I was feeling myself. I was like, “Wow. This is fitness. This is health. Look it up, friends, this is wellness.” Until, from behind, I got a tap on my shoulder. I took my headphones out and turned around. Standing there was the guy from the front desk. I thought maybe I had broken a rule. Maybe I was there too late and the gym wasn’t actually open 24/7? Maybe a water pipe broke under the gym and they needed to shut it down and do reconstruction. Maybe there was a fire and all the exits were blocked and he and I were going to die together in the glass box and everyone would remember my commitment to fitness? No such luck. The guy from the front desk had seen me through the window-walls of the gym and wanted to come in and tell me that I was actually using the machine incorrectly.
He was like, “You need to keep your shoulder blades down. Pretend that there is a walnut in between them and you are trying to squeeze it.” I remember him saying this because I was like, first of all, why the fuck on earth am I trying to squeeze a walnut? Do you mean to crack a walnut? Why specifically a walnut? Am I overthinking this? I was so stunned that this stranger was correcting me that I let him guide me through a few more reps and then he just walked away super-satisfied with himself, his charity work done for the year.
He gave me his number and a vanilla protein shake. Three dates then I cancelled the membership because he wanted to get married and have at least three kids. I never used these arm machines again.
