All That Jazz…
I think I may have just put the last nail in the coffin…
…I participated in a Jazzercise class yesterday.
I danced, jumped, pumped my fists, swiveled my hips and yelled “Woohoo!” when the instructor yelled “Woohoo!” and now I have to live with that decision for the rest of my life. I’m absolutely sick about it! I can’t believe I would ever stoop to that level, but I did, so I have to face the facts, admit what I did, and try to reconcile where everything went wrong.
It all started when I went to use the bathroom at the park’s community center before I headed out for a hike. I heard music coming from the large rec room and curiosity got the better of me. I slowly opened the door and saw a bunch of middle-aged women in workout clothes dancing around in what I can only describe as suburban hell in exercise form.
I was about to about-face and head back out (does this sentence even make sense?) when I was approached by an angelic looking lady in pastel leggings asking me if I was going to take the class, and when I told her “Um, no, I was just wondering what this was.” she smiled beatifically and said “Jazzercise” in the sweetest tone you ever heard.
Then she grabbed a class schedule, handed it to me and proceeded to tell me the best classes to take, who the best instructors were, and that she hoped I’d come back real soon, beaming that beatific smile again, and for a moment, I thought I was in an episode of The Andy Griffith Show.
She was so warm and her enthusiasm so infectious, I felt like I was going to be part of something very extraordinary; one that only the specially chosen belong to, so I made up my mind right then and there I would be attending a class the following week. She thanked me for stopping by, turned on her golden sneaker-clad heels to join the class and I could’ve sworn I saw a glow of light follow her.
During my entire hike all I could think about was Jazzercise, Jazzercise, Jazzercise… and a weird sort of smile spread across my lips. I wasn’t really focusing on where I was going, it was like I was hypnotized somehow, like Jazzercise was the messiah and I was enraptured.
Well a week went by and it was time for the class, but by then, the appeal (spell) had mostly worn off, so I was on the fence about going. See, I’m an avid hiker; I climb mountains and scale vast expanses of open space in all kinds of weather, what on earth was I doing thinking about going to Jazzercise?
Aerobic exercise isn’t my thing, I like to be outdoors in nature, not inside wrapped in spandex. But the voice inside my head took over and said, “Just go, you might have a really great experience, meet great women and make new friends.” Admittedly, I have been thinking about expanding my already vast social circle as I’m running out of people to offend.
Well fuck that voice, because I did go, and as soon as class started, I immediately regretted my decision. These community group classes suck ass. You can read about my previous experience with one of ’em here.
It was… it was… well I don’t know how to explain it other than I felt like I was being indoctrinated into the worst kind of religion: A suburban housewife’s afternoon activity. I mean c’mon, I already made jam over the summer… twice, what the hell else do you want from me, suburbia?!!
Look, I know it’s about me, not them. It’s the fact that I cannot stand mediocrity, suburban lifestyles and pastel workout clothes. I have no patience for dogma, whether in the form of a congregation or Jazzercise class. I’ve always been that way and I always will… thank God.
Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to go to a bake sale.