Thursday, July 10

The Accidental Kickboxers

The Accidental Kickboxers

"Kickboxing: the sport of the future." John Cusack as Lloyd Dobler in Say Anything

As is my usual habit, I spent all winter eating, watching TV, going to movies/bars/restaurants, eating some more, and reading various magazines. Needless to say, this led to the customary spring panic when I realized that yes, shorts and swimsuit would be required in the semi-near future.

What to do?

Why, Body Sculpture, of course!

My friend Cheryl and I decided to sign up for a class described as "a variety of cardio activities followed by a session of strength training using weights." Aha, we thought: we will look just like Jennifer Anniston by the end of the session. It will be invigorating and delightful. Strength training! That's how all the Hollywood stars get long and lean, you know.

We were wrong. So very, very wrong. Here is a transcript of a conversation Cheryl and I had, halfway through our first class:

Lexi (panting): If I die, you know my parents' phone numbers, right?

Cheryl (panting): [silence]

Lexi (still panting): Cheryl?

Cheryl (panting): I HATE THIS! (pant)

We were both shocked to find that the class involved a good amount of kickboxing. While we didn't use bags, the kickboxing was a good deal more difficult than some of the other exercises we had been practicing. I went home from our first kickboxing session positive that my arms/abs/hips/knees/ankles were going to give out at any minute.

It did not help that our gym was used by senior citizens during the day. They liked to turn up the heat (heat! In June!) in the morning, and it did not always get turned off before we got to class. Our sadist of an instructor left the heat blasting for two classes before she noticed that all of her students were purple-faced sweaty gallons-of-water-drinking fools. "Oops!" she laughed, tossing her long blond braid and shaking her Nike-brand hot pants all at once. [Note: behind her back, Cheryl and I called her the aerobics Nazi.]

I should mention that the best thing about taking a class such as Body Sculpture with a friend is that the two of you can make fun of all the other participants (while, of course, you are both mocked by everyone else). In our class, there was Maniac – so named because she would run very fast in place if she didn't like whatever move the rest of the class was doing – and Thong Girl, who liked to ensure that we could all see her skimpy underwear. There was also a pair of friends that we nicknamed Snarky and Tree. Snarky was so named because rather than do anything aerobic she just loudly commented about how stupid everyone else looked; Tree was just absurdly tall.

We've stuck with it, even electing to sign up for a second session. To my great disappointment, the eleven weeks of kickboxing and lunging and pushups that I've endured thus far have not made me look like either Jennifer Anniston or Catherine Zeta-Jones. Nor, to be honest, did the annual rite of shopping for swimsuits become any more pleasant. I assume that it definitely will next session, when we are switching to a class called "Cardio Crunch," or maybe to yoga, or Pilates. By the time winter rolls around, I should be bikini-ready.