Get to steppin'

"C'mon, it's not that bad!" <---- Interesting how these words usually precede something not not that bad. And when my mom convinced me to take her step aerobics class with her, I knew from the start that this was going to be a hot mess--for me, at least.

First of all, let me make something clear--I love my mom, and any person who knows her loves her too. And I'd do basically anything for her... including running the risk of looking like I never actually learned to even stand erect, let alone do STEP AEROBICS.

Poor Life Choice #1: Assuming that I was going to go there and show the "older people" how it's done.

You see, I'm a dancer. Been dancing since I was a year old (home videos to prove it), and I've done everything from ballet, to modern, to hip-hop, to jazz, to tap, to contemporary. Plus, I'm a UVA student, meaning that for 9 months out of the year, I live in the only place on earth where you actually do walk uphill both ways. So what's a little low-intensity step aerobics class? I'll probably get bored. Psh. I got this, I thought to myself. WRONG.

So I got to the classroom at the YMCA, I looked around, and the average age of the women in the class was at least 55. (My age brought the average down...) So, just being plain ignorant, I'm thinking, Ok, it can't be that bad if women in their 60s can do this. (PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCEMENT: "Senior citizens" are senior for a reason. Just remember that.) By this point I noticed that the AC was on FULL BLAST. I promise you, it was like 38 degrees in there--icicles growing on the ceiling, an igloo chillin' in the corner; I could almost swear I saw one of Santa's elves run past me at one point. How intense could this possibly get that you need to turn this place into a polar ice cap? And before I knew it, our instructor, Marvin, walked to the front of the class.

Poor Life Choice #2: Assuming that Marvin wasn't going to give me the work out of the summer.

Allow me to describe Marvin. He's the sweetest looking man you ever saw, in his 50s at least, about 6 ft., jolly, the kind of man you'd see in a red suit granting children their wishes around Christmastime. I looked at my mom, my eyes inquiring, "Who's that?" Mom smiled and mouthed "That's our teacher."

Poor Life Choice #3: Forgetting that aerobics classrooms have mirrors, so everyone can see what you do--and say.

"HUH?!" I said, I'm sure loud enough for other people to hear. (I cringe thinking about it even now.) Mom just smiled sweetly and faced the front of the room, ready to go.

Marvin kicked on the music, and away we went. Starting off nice and slow, it really wasn't that bad. "Up! And down! Up! And down! Toe touch! And down! Toe touch! And down!" Marvin called out instructions just like a pro right out of a fitness VHS tape. I looked around, and while everyone else was smiling and having fun, all I could think was, DO NOT TRIP ON THE STEP. IF YOU TRIP, YOU WILL DIE. Concentrating with all my might, I was steppin' up and down, toe touchin' like it was my job. I finally started to relax a little. Then all of a sudden, after about 10 minutes, I felt it. What is this?! Thirst?! Perspiration?! I am a DANCER! I can't just...just... start sweating over a little warm up!

Poor Life Choice #4: Cutting back on the amount of water I drank so that I wouldn't look like I was feeling anything.

Marvin mercifully gave us a water break, and of course I only took about two sips of water. (In Marvin's defense, he was sure to give little affirmations along the way like "Great job!" or "If you feel uncomfortable, be sure to stop." But I couldn't stop! No! I had to act like I actually knew what I was doing!) The next thing I knew, I was back on the step, "Up! Down! Up! Down! And kick! And down! Knee up! And down!" And L-step! Back! And L-step!" Of course, being the dancing machine that I am, I was kickin' when I should have been steppin', forgetting which way was right and left, and of course, tripping all over the step.

Would you believe that it took me 15 full minutes to figure out that an L-step is in the shape of an L?

Poor Life Choice #5: See Poor Life Choice #2.

I stayed behind to stretch. And let the record show that after about 20 minutes of crunches, leg raises, and dumbbell lifting, muscles that I did not even know I have felt like they were going to spontaneously combust into open flame.

Class ended. Mom was smiling, radiant, looking beautiful as always.

"So how did you like it?" she asked. Somehow, I couldn't tell her that my muscles were screaming, "DON'T YOU EVER, EVER...DO THAT AGAIN." I couldn't tell her that I couldn't feel my abs anymore. I couldn't tell her that I felt like a new-born giraffe trying to walk. I couldn't tell her that after all that, all I wanted to do was go home and eat 3 slices of pizza. Because believe it or not, something inside of me wanted to try it again.

Moral of the Story: "Older people" can take you out. And not to dinner.