Tuesday, February 19, 2013

Hey! Ho! Woooooooooo!

I've joined a cult. Keeping within the theme of "I make bad decisions," during my most recent class at Jazzercise, I realized that everyone knows everyone else, outsiders (me) don't get to infiltrate easily (or maybe I'm just socially awkward), and there's a secret shouting method that I have yet to catch onto.

The instructor bounded up in front of us and as we stretched out our necks like turtles, she offered us announcements about special classes that were happening this weekend with one of the women in the class; she's from the West Coast and is teaching here and it's gonna be great! This instructor is the one from the previous class I did, the uber fit one who likes to speak some of the music lyrics, especially the ones to "That's Not My Name" and the song that goes My name is Keri, and I'm so very... something about her derriere.

We did front kicks. The instructor called out Hey! with the right kick and Ho! with the left kick. Then every kick afterwards EVERYONE was shouting HEY! HO! louder and louder. I couldn't hold back and I stopped my exercise snob breathing for some Hey Ho Ing. Since Jazzercise has been around since the 80s, I'm pretty sure the Lumineers owe the Jazzercise people for this:

After the Hey Ho kicks, things got a little less formal and a lot more sudden. If we changed moves from side movement to up and down, a few women would shout WOOOOOOOO! Then if we started punching, some other women would yell WOOOO WOOOOOO!!!! Low lunges called for more WOOO! I wasn't sure if these were random Woooos or if certain women were assigned to Wooo for certain movements.

With all of my successful hey-ho-ing, I was sure that I had become part of this cult. Sealing the deal was the woman in front of me. I'd been giving her back the stink-eye because she was really in shape and did all the moves with groove and soul, the same way I do, and she was already in the cult, so she was clearly trying to one-up me and was clearly my arch-nemesis of Jazzercize. After the first song, she turned around, looking right at me. In a third of a second, I felt very badly for hating her since she was not the young-California-chic woman I'd figured she was; she was actually in her late 40s or early 50s (or, you know, the general 39 I assign everyone since I can't tell people's ages), and I should have been praising her obvious abilities at such a late time in her life (I am awful).

So in the second third of that second, I was exhilarated. Someone from the cult other than the woman at the counter scanning my keychain was going to speak to me directly. In the third third of that second, she said, Can you see all right? It's all I was thinking about the whole time.

You know. Because I'm miniature.

Knowing that this is what we call karma, I did the whole awkward waving my hands back and forth and guaranteed over and over that it was fine it was fine I could see no worries. The instructor is on a stage that's about a foot off the ground. Also, I was at the almost end of the room, so I was at an angle. I could also watch the woman who had asked me because she was very good. So yes, I could see. I could also hear. Shortness does not equate to deafness, so I could hear the steps that she was calling out. So, I wasn't in the cult and I was also short and being punished for hating someone who was worried about being in my way. (Again, I am awful).

The class went onto some high impact fast-paced cardio dancing that caused some super-frenetic WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOing and I found myself almost breathless and in the sweat zone until the toning part happened. The room emptied out a little bit as I've found is the case with these classes; some of the women don't do the abs and weights. There was no shouting during this portion. Once the final stretch happened, the entire class erupted in loud claps and whoops. I clapped. I did not whoop. Whooping is for members only.

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