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Buffet of pain


My efforts to lose 15 pounds has led me to the biggest buffet I have ever been to – the exercise class buffet at the YMCA.

I have chronicled those efforts the past two months in this column, citing my attempts to train for a 5k run on my own, and a stab at the “power sculpt” class two weeks ago.

I failed miserably at both.

Turns out I am addicted to my heart continually beating, and trying to jog in 100-plus degree weather doesn’t support that addiction.

Following the power sculpt class, I was reasonably sure my triceps had been removed from my body, run through a meat grinder and put back in upside down.

I turned to the kinder, gentler method of shopping YMCA classes, avoiding classes with the words “running”, “power” and “triceps” in their descriptor.

This week I picked Pilates and Zumba classes as my substitute for starvation.
Monday I attended my first Pilates class and found out it can be done barefoot, which I thought was an added bonus.

I really like Pilates, where they gently stretch and work muscles inside the human body that doctors have not yet identified.

The downside to Pilates, at least to me, is that it makes my toes cramp. This is embarrassing because being barefoot, when the instructor told everyone to point their toes while they’re in mid-air, my foot looked like a zombie hand coming out of a grave in a horror movie.

However, because I believe that intense consumption of bananas can stop my toe cramps; and they let us do yoga poses like the triangle, the downward facing dog, and the child pose, I will return.

I went to Zumba class Tuesday where I found out that sweat is a universal language.

I also found out that it is a keeper in my exercise buffet.

This despite the fact that I am in a class where 75 percent of the attendees can legally and cutely wear shorts with the words “Pink” and “Cheer Girl” across the butt.

Nevermind that I am in my mid-40’s and my main reason for attending is to avoid wearing a mu mu in bright colors as my signature piece of clothing.

Nevermind I spent my first two classes watching nothing but the instructor’s feet in my attempt to do dance moves that ended up looking more like a frog rocking it out in a blender when I did them.

I finished the classes, and I emerged victorious. I am not in a mu mu, and my frog moves are more fluid and notably less jerky.

Since the Y doesn’t offer liposuction classes, I haven’t decided yet what I’ll add to my plate next week from the fitness buffet.