LAUREL COUNTY, Ky. —
“Get on your hands and knees and start kicking your right leg up. Do it. Now.”
So I started, remembering the good, old days when I would do that same move while watching the Jane Fonda workout video with my mom. But then my bum and leg started to get sore.
“Ten more,” Teacher said so I gritted my teeth and started counting down. After 10, I dropped my leg, pleased with myself.
“Twenty more,” she said in a way that made me realize, no sir, she wasn’t kidding.
I managed the 20 and there were 10 more after that and another 30 before we were finally done.
“Left leg, go.”
At this point, I looked over at Sarah and saw she had the same look of fear I realized was on my face.
“I thought I was in shape,” she whispered.
“We were bad wrong,” I said.
The class continued much in the same vein, with each movement repeated and repeated until pain and prayers for mercy were the only things that occupied my brain. Then, the second half of the class started with the yoga portion.
I figured this would be easier until I remembered that I haven’t been able to touch my toes since I was 4. In fact, if I were to be likened to any character in any Julie Garland movie, it would be the Tin Man. Except in my 36 years I have not found my oil can.
Which didn’t end up being a helpful thing when Teacher kicked her leg up behind her ear and, like a flight of ballerinas, the ultra-fit girls followed suit. My leg lifted about two feet off the ground before my thigh woke up and put a firm stop to any more progress.
“Are you kidding?” I heard it whisper to me.