Y oh Y
Since we’re paying for the Y membership, we decided to actually use it, more than the couple times a week I go dunk my head under water. The Y has tons of classes available, everything from aerobics to karate to Yoga.
So what did we decide to do?
We decided to go dunk our heads under water… All right, we actually kept our heads above water, but we were still in the pool. The pool in which the water is, IMNSHO, a little too cold. I get all goose-bumpy in the water, and I don’t enjoy that in the least.
Two nights a week there’s a water aerobics class. We went on Monday night, the Spouse Thingy with his spiffy new glasses-free-face, and me with my spiffy new contacts—so hey, we could actually see where we were, all the crud floating in the water, and the people with whom we shared the pool. The lap lanes were all taken, mostly by some swim team, but the shallow end was reserved just for us.
Us and the six or seven older women who also showed up for the class. Well, and the skinny little thing who was leading the class. She seemed very nice, but I have to hate her on principle. No one should be that trim and fit. Kind of like Shania Twain…she has a nice voice, but I’m obligated to hate anyone who can give birth and still fit into those tiny little leather pants.
The skinny little thing started us out by “jogging” around the shallow end of the pool. Jogging evidently mean “meandering around for five minutes” until the real work begins. It was a line of old women, me, and the Spouse Thingy going in circles, with the Spouse Thingy and me lapping them on a regular basis.
The class itself was all right—a little less than an hour of jumping up and down, kicking, waving our arms manically, and generally just moving around in the water. By the time we were done, I didn’t feel like I’d done much. It definitely felt like less of a workout than I normally get just swimming laps for an hour.
Then I got up yesterday morning, and my calves screamed at me “what the hell did you do to us?!?!” And as the day wore on, they screamed louder and louder, and today when I got up they both simply seethed “we’re not cooperating today…you’ll have to walk down the stairs sideways, because we’re not about to so much as flex for you.”
Yep, I didn’t work out very hard, but evidently my calves did.
There’s another class tonight, and we’re going back. Not because it’s a great workout. Nope. We’re going back because I get a perverse pleasure out of lapping all the little old ladies.
Whatever works, right?