Sports taught me relativity. For example, I was a pretty good swimmer in high school. I won district my senior year and got clobbered at regionals. My times were fast enough to qualifiy me for national finals of Div. III, but only slightly good enough to get me a walk-on seat on the bench for a Div. I team; the latter was an option, by the way, that did not sound as appealing as playing guitar.
Years (and pounds) later, as if by some strange "Twilight Zone" time warp, I find myself on a stationary bicycle in Querétaro. The class is called "Spinning" which is the odd mingling of aerobics and long-distance biking. We're supposed to imagine ourselves climbing mountains while increasing the resistance. Truth be told, I'm not imagining mountains, but rather watching the Rorschach designs created on the floor by my sweat. Yesterday I swear I saw my third grade teacher; she was a scary-looking as ever.
Why am I doing this? It's free and I've got 20 pounds that need eliminating. So I joined the class. Why a class? Because I'm too lazy to do it alone. I wish I had the internal fortitude and discipline of my concuñada, Susan. (Concuñada, by the way, is the Spanish word for my brother-in-law's wife, a relationship for which we do not have a word in English. The family knows the story, but it bears repeating for those who are out of the loop: Years ago we were discussing the very point when Su's eyes popped wide open and her mouth dropped open. "Brian, you're nothing to me!" That is, of course, in English. In Spanish... ahh, blessed Spanish, I am her concuñado.) Su got a treadmill for Christmas and has used it. One of the few people, I might add, that own one and uses it -- to my knowledge. She has even managed to pull gospel insights out of her treadmill, whereas I would probably have to repent for my thoughts on such things. But Su is diligent and merits all my respect.
I, on the other hand, feel impelled to exercise in groups because of relativity. Alone I am content to sit back, read a book, snack on cheese, and balloon. In groups, however, when I know - or at least imagine - that students are taking my huffing, puffing, sweating, gagging, wheezing, jiggling, and grunting as the antithesis of what they want to be at 32, I have something to prove. And prove I do. Today, for example, I proved that I am the slowest guy to in the class to run 2400 meters (14 minutes, 3 seconds). They're also a bunch of fragile little beanpoles. I could thump them in anything requiring muscles. That is, of course, if I could catch them. I also proved that about a quarter of the girls in the class are faster than I. But that's three-quarters who are not. And that's why I love relativity.
3 comments:
I love relativity too. I'm huge in ballet class, but tiny in belly dancing. That's probably why I haven't taken a ballet class in years.
Leave it to Su to tell you what she REALLY thinks of you. :)
In Polish you don't just have a niece or nephew, there are lots of variations so when you say the word, the person knows if it's a brother's or sister's son or daughter, their hair and eye color, favorite hobby and GPA. Or at least the word gives a lot more info than "niece" or "nephew".
If I read many more blog posts about exercise there's a chance I may have to join the fun. So thanks for bringing me that much closer.
That is why I love the gym but also why I feel so dang guilty after I join one. If I go to a few classes and learn a person's name...I then feel impelled to go see that person again and if I skip a few weeks and then see that person again...I feel like a total slacker. *SIGH* I have neither the personal strength of at home training like Su, nor the class training like you Brian. I am destined to be the chubby housewife who knits and takes up hobbies every couple of months :)
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