One of the things I promised myself I would do this Summer, in addition to keeping this blog and dying my hair blonde, is get my ass in shape.
With the exception of a bi-weekly manicure, the two hours of writing I force myself to do every day and an occasional first date, a workout class is pretty much the only scheduled activity I have to fill my days during unemployment.
So, with the help of ClassPass, I try to keep things interesting.
Last Saturday, when I was viciously hungover, I figured the most I could handle was a 1pm “Beginner’s” class at a place called Surfset. The class claimed to “get away from the traditional static workout and challenge your body in new ways with fun, extreme surf-inspired interview workouts that mimic the movements of surfing in water.”
How hard could it be? It looked like all I would have to do was stand on a surfboard (on dry land, nonetheless) and rock back and forth for 45 minutes. Mayyybe there would be a plank or two thrown in there every once in a while to make us feel like we were actually doing something, but there was no way it was going to be a legitimate workout.
Yeah. No. Not the case. I found out pretty quickly that these people take their surfing seriously.
“Cowabunga guys! My name’s Andy!” called a California-cute guy in board shorts as the noon class shuffled out of the st
udio and all of us lazy 1PMers wandered in,”Who’s ready to ride some waves?!”
Already, this was more than I could handle. Katy Perry’s “California Girls” was blasting through a set of iPhone speakers, and there was an ambience video of rolling waves behind “Andy” that was making me horribly, horribly nauseous.
The first issue arose with me trying to mount my board. He was having us do some complicated “Pop Up” situation (which realistically probably wasn’t all that complicated), and I simply could not do it. My limbs flailed and I knocked my water bottle clear across the room, and made direct arm-to-face contact with both of the people next to me.
That was just the first 5 minutes- it got worse from there.
My balance is terrible to begin with. My balance on a Saturday morning, after being out until 4am drinking tequila shots and eating pizza, was one of the most embarrassing things I had ever seen. I fell off the board upwards of 6 times (Ok. I counted. It was 8 times in 45 minutes) and could not stop giggling.
The guy next to me, who was sweating so profusely that every time he moved he flung a little bit of it into my face, did not find my situation funny in the least. The dirty looks he gave me only made me laugh harder and fall off again.
“Andy,” on the other hand, just kept calling attention to what “GREAT ENERGY!” I had, which meant everyone was constantly looking at me while I tried to pick myself up off the floor and get back onto the board.
I couldn’t handle it, and the giggling and falling only got worse.
Thankfully, I got through class without any traumatic injuries to myself or to anyone else (with the exception of my dignity). Just when I thought I was in the clear, “Andy” announced to everyone that it was my birthday (it wasn’t.) and they all started (reluctantly) clapping. Except, of course, for the sweaty guy next to me.