March 24, 2010
Lately I’ve been doing something that I am ashamed of. It’s getting to the point where I can barely look at myself in the mirror anymore. I’ve been sneaking around and trying to keep it as hush-hush as possible in order to protect my reputation, but regardless of my sneaky ways, the neighbors are starting to talk. I know they see me sneak away early in the morning and come home all sweaty and disheveled. Oh yeah, I see them stare and I hear them whisper, and I am sick and tired of the speculation. So now I’m just gonna own it. I’m gonna say it loud (well, maybe at regular conversational volume), and proud (well, maybe somewhere in the middle of embarrassed and proud). Anyway, here goes: My name is Patti Ford and I like Jazzercise.
Whew! That went well. Don’t you think it went well? Freeing is what it was. Tension-reducing, if you will. My non-Jazzercise friends were starting to wonder about my busy mornings, my sore muscles, and the funny way I’d start to groove when a certain Lady Gaga or Britney Spears song would come on. Oh sure, I have always grooved, but not like this. Not with that special flair. That special Jazziness. Yep. They knew something was going on. When they started to get nosy, I began to tell them all that I was having an affair with a Jazz dancer. A very steamy affair that took place in the early morning hours and required me to bring along a yoga mat, hand weights, and a bottle of cold water. An affair with a very limber dancer that made my muscles very sore, and my dance moves very awesome. When everyone failed to believe that explanation, knowing full well that if it ain’t Paul Rudd, it ain’t happening, I decided to tell them I was going to an exercise class.
“What kind of exercise class?”
“The kind in which you exercise, you geniuses.”
“Yeah, but what kind of exercise?”
“The fitnessy weight-lossy kind, you morons!”
“Yeah, but what is it called?”
“It’s called Stop Asking Me So Many Questions and Get a Life-ercise!”
For some reason this did not appease the nosy masses, and I’ve grown tired and confused by all of the lies. I’ve given up and come out of the closet, the jazzy closet, and it feels so good. Why was I ashamed in the first place? Why would I prefer people to think I was being romanced by a man in sequins and tights? It’s because the term “Jazzercise” is synonymous with legwarmers, headbands, old Nana’s, and dance moves that look like they’re straight out of a G-rated version of that 1985 masterpiece “Perfect”, starring Jamie Lee Curtis and John Travolta. In other words: People think it’s cheesy. Including me. Well, at least until I tried it.
Once I gave in and went to my first class, I realized that it was alot less Jazzy than I thought. I mean, I really got a good workout, and nobody snapped at me, waved their jazz hands in my face or tried to make me do an Axel Turn or jump over me during a Stage Leap (I went to jazz.com). Aside from the fact that I totally suck at miming what the instructor is doing, I am doing okay. Yesterday was a bad day though. I knew it was gonna be tough when I walked straight into a wall that morning. Then while getting jazzy with it, I punched myself in the face once, slammed myself in the kneecap with a 5 pound weight, then ran into a wall again. BUT I get better and better every day, and I like it more and more. Just as long as I get my corner.
My friend Cathy and I like to have the back corner for reasons involving, but not limited to, the fact that we are both tall and limby, and both slightly less than graceful (sorry, Cathy). When I don’t get my corner, I get a little irritable. I warn others that I’m definitely gonna hit something at some point, and that it can either be the wall or their heads. Their choice. Lately, there have been unmovable people in my corner. I guess it was only a matter of time until word got out that the corner was the cool place to be. Regardless, it’s my corner and I want it back. Since I am admittedly without shame and often without decorum, I have decided that I may possibly have to pee in that corner to mark it. I used to have a cat who did that, and as far as I could tell, it worked. I know that I never went into the pee corners, and I sure as heck never saw anyone else there.
Anyway, back to my point, which I think was that I like Jazzercise, Lady Gaga, Britney Spears, lunges and planks. I do not like Lionel Ritchie, country songs, jazz squares or Jazzercisers who yell out things like “yeah” or “woo hoo” during class. While sweating and in pain, I don’t believe in yelling anything but the F-word. Why the heck anyone would wanna yell “woo hoo” when their butt muscles hurt, is beyond my limited understanding. Oh! And one more thing: The instructors wear those Janet Jackson Rhythm Nation headsets so they can chit chat and ask us a million questions while we exercise, but guess what? We can’t answer! It’s like getting dental work and the dentist is asking you about your life story when all you can do is grunt, except in this case there is no drill in our mouths and we can talk, but not loud enough to be heard. I have one working vocal cord people. One! I propose that if the instructor is going to chat over the headset, we get headsets too. Power to the jazzercisers! Woo hoo!
One Response to “Gettin’ Jazzy WIth It!”
Leave a Comment
Don't have a Gravatar? (the small photo that shows up when you make a comment). Get one here, it's FREE: Sign up for a free Gravatar