Lady in leotard brought to you by the 1980s
They wear those cool biking shoes, snazzy attire; eat organic and natural yuppie things beforehand to give them optimal energy like apples dipped in flax seed and show up 20 minutes early to “get in the zone.”
Okay, maybe half the class is like this.
Usually I go later at night with a crowd involving people in their twenties who are trying to sweat off their weekend drinking binge, like myself, but tonight I decided to go to the 5:30 class due to time constraints.
I love the gym. It's kind of like the DMV because you get a bunch of weirdo’s—I mean people— in one place at the same time and you never know what you’re going to see.
I knew going at 5:30 was going to be a hot mess because that’s when everyone gets off work. That’s when those self-entitlement people who walk in in their business suits with duffle bags full of expensive gear go. But whatever, it was a hot mess I mentally prepared myself for.
It was no surprise any of this happened tonight:
I’m pretty sure Gloria Estefan instructed the class tonight. Or at least someone who failed at Spanish singing and dancing as her career and took the next best thing.
Not only was she screaming into her mic (the kind pop stars wear on their face) the whole time with a high pitch "woo," but she was walking around the room (which in my time at these classes, they stay where they belong on their bikes) getting in our faces with her Spanish accent and swaying her body like J.Lo. I don’t know what she was doing.
Along with that BS, she was playing the worst music known to man. I felt like I was visiting a graveyard of trance pop music. No one should redo Rihanna or Lady Gaga and by no one, I mean you guy who sings like Whitney Houston.
At least the other chick who instructs humored me with some loud and aggressive rock. I know the guy next to me with plugs and his septum pierced was cursing himself to hell but too scared of looking like a big baby if he left.
One chick was there with headphones on and completely doing her own thing. Physically, she was there. Mentally, she was riding the Tour de France. I was waiting for her to high five air quote Lance Armstrong air quote.
Then there was the guy who was channeling his inner Kobe, hence his Lakers shoes, Lakers Jersey, Lakers shorts-- i don't know why he didn't wear his paint—and talking to himself the whole time while watching himself in the mirror.
How could I forget the person who had to do everything harder than everyone else making me feel lazy? When Gloria told us to increase resistance once, he went up four; and stood up; and used no hands; and did a summersault.
What the heck dude?
There was also the lady in the back who had to agree with everything Gloria said, shout back her enthusiasm, cheer, clap, do the “woo,” sigh loudly, grunt, you name it. Gloria loved her “spirit.”
Then, the not-so-unthinkable happened: Gloria played Selena. I knew it was coming. I don't know what held her back from singing like the pop star she was in her silver spandex but she fought it. That surprised me. Nothing else.
I think I will stick to my washed up twenties crowd who show up late, unmotivated and smelling like regret.