Let me tell you about my exciting experience with Step class. I'm a member of Bally's gym, and they offer numerous classes including riveting Pilates, the sleep-inducing yoga, and the mind-numbing spin class. I like a little adventure and I'm a bit of spunky person myself, so a class with loud pumping music and jumping around is more my style.
I see "Advanced Step" on the class schedule. "Oh, I'll give it a go. How hard can it be?" After parking the mile away from the gym as is inevitable at the after-workday hour of 6pm, I made it to the room and set up my step. The instructor comes in: "Anyone new here?" I raise my hand like a good little student, and she gives a little snicker. "If you haven't taken a step class before I highly suggest you don't start with this class." I think, I'm in pretty good shape, and I'm a fast learner, lets do this. The music starts pumping, we start stretching. Well 5 minutes in, above the pounding music, I hear the instructor instructing through her head mic "grapevine...left...vstep..*mumble*..right- LETS GO!...*unintelligible words*..up, left, kick, turn." At this point, trying to keep up, I have about as much grace as a donkey on roller skates. I put my tail between my legs, pick up my step, put it in the back room, and leave.
Attempt 2. A week later I decide to try again. Let's try Beginner Step! Different instructor, different people. I can do this, piece of cake, I'll learn the steps and come back and show that evil Advanced Step instructor!
After the same procedures with parking, and getting situated in the class, the lady asks if there are new people. Again, I'm the only one. What the heck? Were all these people doing Step class coming out of the womb? We begin. So far, so good. And then, outta nowhere, it turns into Advanced Step reincarnate. What's going on!? It's not only me that doesn't know what's going on. I look around, and about 7 other people are also flailing around like Tinkerbell after she's flown into a closed window. A few times I attempted to do the -hey, lady over there, look at me, let's silently commiserate and chuckle together because neither of us know what the hell's going on- thing, but no one reciprocated and seemed to be fine with looking like an idiot all on their own.
Half way through, I decided enough is enough. If I want to stand around, getting no help and no exercise, I can do that in the comfort of my own home, not in some cheesy-smelling, humiliation room that is known as Bally's. I returned my step, and left.
I see "Advanced Step" on the class schedule. "Oh, I'll give it a go. How hard can it be?" After parking the mile away from the gym as is inevitable at the after-workday hour of 6pm, I made it to the room and set up my step. The instructor comes in: "Anyone new here?" I raise my hand like a good little student, and she gives a little snicker. "If you haven't taken a step class before I highly suggest you don't start with this class." I think, I'm in pretty good shape, and I'm a fast learner, lets do this. The music starts pumping, we start stretching. Well 5 minutes in, above the pounding music, I hear the instructor instructing through her head mic "grapevine...left...vstep..*mumble*..right- LETS GO!...*unintelligible words*..up, left, kick, turn." At this point, trying to keep up, I have about as much grace as a donkey on roller skates. I put my tail between my legs, pick up my step, put it in the back room, and leave.
Attempt 2. A week later I decide to try again. Let's try Beginner Step! Different instructor, different people. I can do this, piece of cake, I'll learn the steps and come back and show that evil Advanced Step instructor!
After the same procedures with parking, and getting situated in the class, the lady asks if there are new people. Again, I'm the only one. What the heck? Were all these people doing Step class coming out of the womb? We begin. So far, so good. And then, outta nowhere, it turns into Advanced Step reincarnate. What's going on!? It's not only me that doesn't know what's going on. I look around, and about 7 other people are also flailing around like Tinkerbell after she's flown into a closed window. A few times I attempted to do the -hey, lady over there, look at me, let's silently commiserate and chuckle together because neither of us know what the hell's going on- thing, but no one reciprocated and seemed to be fine with looking like an idiot all on their own.
Half way through, I decided enough is enough. If I want to stand around, getting no help and no exercise, I can do that in the comfort of my own home, not in some cheesy-smelling, humiliation room that is known as Bally's. I returned my step, and left.
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