That One Time Bubby Went to Jazzercise to Try and Prove His Sisters Wrong

Have I ever mentioned what a great Bubby I have?  I am pretty sure nobody else has such a great Bubby of their own.  This is a guy who will do anything for his sisters.  And I mean just about anything.  Once, we even convinced him to go to a Jazzercise class with us after he ribbed us that it could not be THAT hard and what was the big deal anyways.  Bubby used to call it our “little workout class” and make feminine dancy moves to go along with it.  Seester and I looked at each other and challenged him to go with us to a class and so he did.  We had been taking classes for quite some time and knew what a great workout it was, but he was convinced it was not hard.  So we bet him that we were right about it being a hard workout and he accepted the challenge. I can hear my inner laugh bubbling up even now thinking about it.  It was one of the best family adventures ever.  Epic even.

First off, we made him get up early to go work out with us and my Bubby is not a morning person.  Actually, none of us are to be honest, but we wanted to get our workout done for the day so we made him get up early and go with us.  Plus, BFF wanted to join us to see Bubby take a class so there we were bright and early.  Our instructor was excited to have a boy in class besides her hubby, so we took our places to start class.  He was a little intimidated by having to sign the waiver stating the center was not responsible if he died but he didn’t let it phase him.  There is my Bubby, tall skinny white boy, in a class filled with women and taking it all in stride.  We start warming up and Bubby hangs on just fine even sticking his tongue out at the 3 of us as if to prove that it isn’t that hard.  Then the aerobic dancing starts.  Oh my poor Bubby really had no idea what he was in for when we started truly Jazzercising.

A few songs in and I snuck a peek at my Bubby.  Poor guy was keeping up pretty decent but was soaked with sweat and red-faced as we all get in my family.  He was not doing too bad with the dance steps though cuz we all seem to have rhythm in my family but his gangly tall nature did make it seem a little like Spazzercize.  Bubby might have made up his own moves at one point which made us start giggling.  At times, he might have resembled Chandler Bing from Friends dancing but God love him, he never gave up.  He was covered in sweat and by this I mean he looked like he had been dipped in the pool of his own bodily secretions, that is how much he was sweating.  I felt so bad for him as it was obvious that his smoking habit was catching up with him by the way he was heavy breathing.  Then we started the leg/butt/abs portion of class.  He literally started swearing under his breath as we did leg lift after leg lift.  Seester, BFF and I were cracking up now as we knew the pain that we were getting into and listening to him constantly swearing was the best.  At one point, he gave up and collapsed onto his mat, breathing hard and swearing softly about his butt being on fire.  He bravely got up and continued after a few minutes, muttering under his breath and groaning with pain.  The look on his face a bit later when we were doing arms with weights was just as priceless and I believe he said to me “Is she trying to fucking kill us?” as we went into the third arm routine.  I don’t think he believed me when I said it was harder than it looks.  His choice of an 8 lb weight was probably also not the wisest as he grunted and groaned through the rest of the routine.

After cooling down, my poor bright red-faced soaked in his own sweat Bubby turned to us and said “You guys actually pay her to torture you like this?  This is fucking insanity!”.  He freely admitted that it was harder than he thought and we all smiled smugly.  Actually, I think BFF might have done what could only be described as a type of end-zone dance about winning that bet.  Bubby even said he almost felt like throwing up at one point when it got hard and was grateful he was under a fan.  His hat he had worn was drenched in sweat…you could have wrung it out.  It truly was the best experience ever watching him Spazzercise.  He never again ribbed us about our “little workout class” ever again.  In fact, if I remember correctly, he complained about his arms and butt hurting for several days afterwards.

Oh yeah.  I didn’t die today.  I did however have respect for my Bubby for actually going to a Jazzercise class even if it was to try to prove his sisters wrong but I didn’t die.  I am Fat Girl with quite possibly is the best Bubby in the whole world even when he does look like he is drenched in his own secretions Running.  The experiment continues…

Spazzercise and The Human Donut!

This weekend I tried out something new to the experiment but not to me.  I went to Jazzercise class on Saturday morning.  Now I have been a Jazzercise student for many many years and really if you haven’t tried it out, I dare you to give it a try.  Go ahead.  Dig out your leg warmers and head band and try it.  It really is a complete workout.  Aerobics and dance moves, weights and stretch…you get it all.  Check it out if you don’t believe me.   The best thing about a Jazzercise class? NO mirrors!  Yup.  You heard me.  No mirrors.  For us fat girls, this is the absolute best thing about it.  I don’t have to look at myself floundering around, fat jiggling and covered in my raccoon grease.  I can just enjoy myself and move it.  BFF and I sometimes call it Spazzercise.  Because you can feel like a spaz trying to get all the dance moves.  Or others can look like a spaz once you have been doing it for as many years as we have.  We promise not to laugh if you join us in class.  Maybe a snicker or two.   I love Jazzercise because I love to dance.  I am a fat girl who dances around her living room quite frequently when the mood strikes…and yes, sometimes I am naked.  So there.  I am even the girl in the front row of class….seriously.  Pretty sure in my head, I am Britney Spears dancing like this:

But in reality I think it is more like this:

In any case, I still worked up a good greasy raccoon sweat and felt pretty sore the next day.  Everything hurt but in a good way.  And the knee held up pretty well except for all the plies.  So I took that as another step toward starting to run again…hopefully.  Despite being aware of my fatness when we were doing crunches, I really enjoyed it.  Kinda hard not to be aware of the fat then as it is all rolled up coming at you like a big wave toward the pageant queen chin as you crunch.  I half expected to see a surfer on my fat waves catching a rip curl as I crunched up.  Pretty sure I might have heard island music playing and I know I shaved my girly parts so it wasn’t coming from the jungle down there.  And how are you supposed to leave a space between your chin and chest when doing crunches if your chin and chest are shaking hands and becoming fast friends as they grow into one?  It is a mystery to me.

Today BFF and I went back to Jazzercise and found out this am they were having yoga class.  Ok.  We are game.  I can become a human pretzel, right?  Wrong!  More like a human donut!  Yoga is seriously harder than it looks or sounds.  You want me to put my foot where while my hand is doing what?  And my hips have to be facing where? Sounds like a bad sex instruction manual but really I felt like the fat girl in me was laughing as I tried to get my body to comply to the gumbyness of yoga.  Sex isn’t even that bendy…at least for me it isn’t.  I mean sex can be bendy but for me its more of a try not to notice the sound of your fat slapping together kind of thing.  I might be traumatized to never having sex again until I lose some weight.  Well…let’s not go into that at this point.  At one point, I had to almost laugh out loud as the instructor said to rest your chest on your knee.  I tried but couldn’t because my fat belly was already resting there.  I mean really.  I can’t get any closer to my knee cuz my fat roll has now taken over the space.  Ugh.  I tried to move it but it wouldn’t budge.  It was like stuck there with duct tape or something.  Then the absurdity of me trying to move my fat roll over while I was trying to strtch grabbed me as funny and I had to stifle the giggles that felt like they would explode like diarrhea if I opened my mouth.  It really was pretty funny that I was actually trying to move it out of the way.  Oh brother.  So no pretzel for me….like I said.  Human Donut.

So I have hit my two-week mark on the steroid injection.  The point where I can try running again and see if it is gonna be possible.  Tomorrow I will give it a go trying the Couch to 5K program so I don’t strain it too hard and we shall see.  I have my chicken bone ready for Precious.  Fingers crossed on the knee.

Oh yeah.  I didn’t die today.  I tried to contort myself in ways that a human should not contort themselves, but I didn’t die.  I am fat girl spazzerciser and human donut!  The experiment continues….