Working My Core. And My Patience.

Last night was the first class of a six-week core class I'm doing. These classes kick your ass, and your abs, and your arms, back, shoulders, even your wrists and all ten of your toes, and muscles in the side of your butt you never knew existed.

Now, I'm not a big group exercise person. When I was probably six, I cried my way through a ballet class because I hated it so and didn't want to dance with the other little dancers. My mom never brought me back (win). I'm usually the tallest one in the 24-Hour Fitness cardio kickboxing class, which means every time I go left when we're supposed to be going right, it's very evident in the mirror. But let's be honest, it's not just the moves I have a problem with, it's the people.

There are certain kinds of people in every group exercise class. I walked into the high school gym where this class is held. I'm one of the last of the group of 15 or so to arrive, and I place my mat in the back row, natch. My mat has flowers on one side, which is totally fine but for some reason I decide I want to be on the side without flowers (I know, typical). I try to lay it flat, flower side down but because it's brand new, it just won't unroll. Before I could even think "Well I'll just flip it back over and it'll be easier," I hear a voice say "You know, if you turn it over it will be easier to make it lay flat."

Time out. I know this person was helping but come on. Give the retarded girl a chance to figure it out herself.

So there's her. The know-it-all.

Defeatedly, I mumble to her, "Yea, I just didn't want the flower side up..." And now I just sound like a weirdo who hates pretty things! Casually, and while I hope she isn't looking, I turn the mat over.

Class starts. We're stretching, we're stretching, I'm stretching on my flowery mat. And then the music changes to a fast song, and a girl in the front isn't just stretching, she's now dancing, thrusting her hips and moving her arms. I'm instantly annoyed, despite our deep breathing. Jump to three exercises later and we're getting big exercise balls. Instead of walking calmly back to her mat with the ball, she takes off down the gym dribbling it, dodging and weaving like a basketball player.

The "I'm good at everything" one. Calm the fuck down and do your sit-ups like everyone else in the class.

40 minutes in and the instructor asks, after a round of some newfangled crunches, "So are we ready to do another set?" Most people, assuming this is a rhetorical question, will either remain silent, nod, grunt, or think to themselves, "Hell no." But there's always that one.

The class talker. "Yes!!!" she exclaims, as if she's been offered a free trip to Tahiti with Javier Bardem.

Whew! Thanks for answering. I was worried we'd end class right then and there if nobody responded.

And then, the girl who stands in the back of the class, grumbling through it, judging everyone else.

Yeah, that's me. I'm cool with it.

Who's ready for next week?