Dessert does NOT have a dual meaning...

I am banned, in the state of Texas from doing moves like this. I'd take 'em all down with me. It's a liability issue, I was told.

I get to the gym today, get my steam on to warm up my frozen toes, and then get my stuff on, turn on the mp3 player, and lo, it's out of juice. Dammit. If there's one thing I hate when I'm working out, it's hearing myself breathe. I like to blare it out with very loud rap music. There's just something motivating about, "Shake your money maker like somebody's 'bout to pay ya..." THAT'S motivation.

So, I get up to the workout area, and check in on the classes, on a whim. Now, I'm not much for the classes. Everytime I attend a workout class, I have to verbally confirm with the instructor that there will be no weird things going on. By weird things, I mean anything that involves any type of pattern, add-on, or coordination. No whirly-birds or helicopters over the step. Because then I'll fall, it won't be a graceful fall, we'll have to involve the former Nebraska Husker/professional football who's now a doctor, they always call him when an emergency arises and he's there, and I saw him on the way in, and he's there. So, they'd call him, and should I pass out, and in the moment of gravity, my shirt scoots up a bit, that poor man will be exposed to stretchmarks, that I don't care if you're a doctor, or your wife has had three babies, you've never seen stretchmarks like this before. So, I'm just trying to avoid all THAT, when I simply ask "Is coordination, or any type of assimilated dance move involved?"

The lovely lady tells me "NO! AND WE"RE SO GLAD YOU"RE HERE!" I say that in all caps, because she really was excited. We get started, and not two minutes into this 1 hour, 15 minute class, there we are, doing fucking step moves, and grapevine. I'm watching her and then trying to not visualize my tumble. All I can see is that Las Vegas hotel they just imploded on the news.

The next thing I know, "grab your weights, we're going down stairs" comes out of the Liar's mouth. Are you kidding me?

Dear Liar Lady,
The reason fatties like me show up in your class is so that the rest of the gym doesn't have to see the fat rolls bounce. Could you please join me in my quest to keep the cottage cheese butt to a visual minimum for the rest of the members at the gym? Please?

Thank you,
Junk In the Trunk, and the headlights, and a little on the rims.....

Whatever. I feel it's important to mention here that when I graduated from college, I vowed that never again would I ever do the following....ever:
Squats
Lunges
Push Press and/or pushups
15's - this was a vicious punishment in which you had to run the width of the basketball court, touch line to line, 15 times, in less than a minute. You little people think this is easy, but us tall folk, not so much.
200's - some call this a distant sprint. I call it bullshit. We had to run 8 of them in less than 32 seconds. Or we had to show up the next day and do it all over again until finally, one day, mid season, Coach would either forget about it, find some other mean of torture, or give up. But mostly, I call it the major contributor to the epidemic of butt cramp.
Horses or Suicides

Neh. We never say never, and indeed, I've ended up since college participating in all but the 200's, the 15's and the Horses or some call them Suicides. I don't like to call them suicides, but I did watch a kid in high school running horses, plant, then turn to pivot while his knee stayed in place. I blame his coach for his torn ACL, a seat on the bench, as well as the rest of his career in high school, he could have played in college, but thanks to the damned Horses he ran, instead, enjoyed the rest of his high school days smoking weed. Way to stick it to them. So, every time I ran a horse back in college, all I could see was my knee staying in place while I turned. It never happened. So, that's good.

That's real good, because once we got out of our safe place of working out today, we ended up in the gym, and lo, the next thing I know, I'm running Horses. I guarantee you, I will NEVER run the 15's. Ever. I MEAN IT!

After really obscure stuff, I'm not even sure this lady has her credentials, except whatever she had me doing, made me sweat, and made my arms, legs, and tire roll burn, individually. We ended up back in the room, the safe place. But the class lasted a bit long, it started at 10, and was supposed to be an hour and fifteen minutes. At 11:30, I had to start cleaning up my stuff. That's when one of the ladies (a fellow mom of twins, mind you) chimes in and says,
"Leslie, stay for dessert!"

I look around the room, because I didn't smell chocolate. And I have a keen sense of smell...of chocolate. I spotted the Liar's bag, and thought, wow, that's big. And I assess the width and length of the bag, calculating that there could, in fact, be a lovely dish of sweet delectables in there. So I say, "Isn't that quite the enabling...dessert after a workout?" All judgemental like, because I hate her. And they all giggle and say "Oh, it's a good low-cal dessert."

Well, I'm IN! WoOHOO! Dessert is going to bring me back to this class EVERY TUESDAY! Because I have a pal, who is not even 30 years old yet, but goes to the 50's Rockers Swim workouts because they serve donuts after they are done. And I'm so on this! YAY! I stay, we go another 10 minutes, stretching....releasing...relaxing...whatever. Then we're done, and that WOMAN, our fellow mom of twins says to me, "How did you like dessert?"

Robert DeNiro screams in my head, "DO I AMUSE YOU!? What the bleep bleep bleepity bleep did you just say!?" The stretching was "dessert". I'm guessing these very same people all rally together around their alcoholic gal pals and say, "Hey, stick around, we're going to make martinis." And then serve up a mocktail and a slice of intervention.

I feel so exposed. So violated. And I'll be there next week. Maybe I'll bring brownies.

That's how I roll.