Step It Up

In the last post I made about the kick boxing class I took, I made have a quick comment about me possibly attempting a step class also. After receiving many inquiries on the results of that venture, I have decided to give you all the gory details (and yes folks, I know you are laughing at me, not with me because I’m not laughing).

On the bright side this was a few years back, so it wasn’t a recent humiliation.

I wanted to take a class at the Y, but being coordinationally challenged I wanted something fairly easy.

On this particular day they were offering a beginner step class … perfect, how hard could that be? So I walk into class and see what equipment everyone else has.

I walk over to the closet drag out a step board and everyone of them has these riser-things attached to the bottom. Do we need those for a beginner class? And everyone has balls.  Balls?  I ask the the fit-looking lady next to me if she has taken the class before she says “Yes, it’s pretty challenging”.

I said “Oh, I didn’t think a beginner class would be that hard”.

Her reply:  “Didn’t you know?  The beginner class was canceled and this was advanced step”.

crap

Right on cue, I look over to see the instructor walk in and I do a double take.  Sweet mother of God … it’s Debbie.

For those of you who haven’t read the kickboxing class post.  Debbie is the devil incarnate, punisher of the unfit, and hater of all things tasty and yummy.  Oh yeah, I also had a near death experience from the last class I took from her.

If I didn’t have all of this equipment laid out in front me I would have ran (but that might encourage her). How could I take an advanced step class when I had never taken any kind of step class, and how could I take it from Debbie who looks like she just stepped off of the cover of Women’s Fitness Magazine in her tiny sports bra and shorts that look like the same thing my daughter wears under her cheer uniform.

“Let’s Get started!” she yells (and I think I see a glint of recognition in her eye as she glances my direction).

She starts us out by jumping up and down. Can’t say I’ve ever been a fan of jumping, and she’s got a class full of grown women jumping up and down like we are at a rave, a very, very long-lasting rave.

She then yells, “Now zig zag!” What’s zig zag? Apparently I zigged when I should have zagged, since I just came within 2 inches of running into the lady next to me. I gave an apologetic smile and she just looked annoyed.

Awesome.

Then we just step up and down for a while.  Just when I think I can do this it’s not so bad, she yells “double time!” OMG! Everyone is going really, really fast!

Next she yells “Around the World”! What in the world is around the world? Everyone is circling around their boards, and again I went the wrong way and almost ran into the same, formerly nice, lady. This time her look has gone from annoyed to mean.

Ugh I want out of here! “step up, step over, step to the side, side step!” Debbie barks.

Now skip hop! Skip hop? I have neither skipped nor hopped since kindergarten and we look ridiculous (especially me since I’m hopping when I should be skipping).

So now we are side stepping 3 times, around the world both directions twice, stepping over and backward … and then she throws the balls into it. What is this Cirque du Soleil? People can only do so many things at once.

She tells us to keep doing this routine that I obviously don’t get, and toss a ball back and forth, and occasionally way up in the air.

So I’m guessing Debbie just sits in her fitness filled apartment, gnawing celery and thinking up ways to make people feel stupid.

So as you can imagine this is where things really fall apart. I am sweating like a pig, not sure which way I’m going, I’ve stepped on my own foot 5 times, and now I just hit Mean Lady in the side of the head with my ball. Not good.

Then she tells us to add the risers under our boards.  This could not get any worse.

So now we are probably quintuple-timing our insane steps, tossing stupid balls, and in my head, between all the commands Debbie is screaming, I ask myself when my thighs and butt caught fire. Those risers make a sucky difference.

Debbie is evil.

So around 9 hours into the class, my heart is thumping out of control (I can feel it in my earlobes).  And now we are stepping up, squatting, kicking one leg up, and then she tells us to throw our ball under our leg and catch it with the other hand. Who thinks this stuff up?

If I could, at this point, I would nail Debbie in the face with this ball.

So while I’m trying doing my best to focus on staying conscious, the lady on my other side tells me my shoelace is untied. Seriously lady? Look at me! I’m a thirty-something year old woman, hopping, squatting, skipping, sweating profusely, and throwing (er, dropping) balls.  My shoelace is the least of my worries.

I look up at the clock.  We have got to be almost finished. 20 more minutes! Kill me now.

I hate Debbie, I hate this stupid step, I hate this ball (which is probably covered in sweat germs), and I hate that my heart is beating so loud I can hear it in my head. Is that bad?

Now my legs are shaking so badly that I’m afraid they are going to give out. I look in the mirror.

Dear God! My clothes are soaked in sweat, my pony tail has half fallen out, my shoelace is actually untied, and my face is some color of red unknown to man.

Debbie says it’s time to cool down.

Well that”s good since I’m pretty sure I couldn’t get any warmer.  We stretch for a little while, and then it’s time to go.  I really don’t think I can move from my seated pose. My legs are so jellified that I’m not sure if I could even make it to the car.

Everyone is putting there equipment away and some lady takes pity on me and takes mine for me.

I really must look pathetic. I can’t go down the stairs — I just can’t make it. So I swallow what little pride I have left at this point and ride the elevator down. That’s right people, I had to take the elevator in a two story building.  Whatever it took to get me out of Debbie’s House Of Torture.

So that’s my story, and that’s the last class that I took. It was pretty rocky.  Can’t imagine why I haven’t gone back??

So now you know my secret. I can’t step, squat, hop and throw balls at the same time. But that’s okay. I can live with that.

Speaking of rocky times, this is a rocking chair I got this fall (speaking of falling) at a yard sale.

It was brown and dirty, but it had good bones. I upcycled it by chalkpainting it turquoise, distressing it and coating it in wax.  I will be listing it on craigslist tomorrow.