"Smile babies, smiiiile! Show me you're having fun, come on! One leg ahead raised, then lateral. Hop, hop - hop, hop! Like this!"
What the hell -hop- am I -hop - doing here?
"And five, four, three, two ... all the other way around, babies, there you goooooo!"
There I go, my eyes constantly monitoring the watch on the wall. It's only 10 minutes gone into this water aerobics class and I'm having problems following this fury of a teacher.
"Up and down now with those arms, UP and DOWN, yes! And Smiiiileeee, smile this morning!"
Okay, I smile, at least I try to. What did I think? Gyms will never be my habitat, I'm already bored to death and I haven't even paid my inscription yet. Which means this is my first test lesson and I'm already complaining. So NO! I don't feel like smiling at all, okay?
"Move your bicipit, babies, yes, like this! So next time you wave hello no flaccid muscles will be visible anymore!"
What? I don't wave hello and worry about my flaccid arms at all. Oh, come on Elda, you said you had to do this. Let the teacher believe you want to look fit while you wave hellos from the beach (to whom should I wave, anyway? Bah!) and debut into a new healthy life.
I owe this to myself, not because I need to get ready for Spring in large anticipation or because I'm travelling straight into my 40's and I'm obsessed with being fit, like my brother suggested. He must have seen my recent photos on Facebook, in which I had my make-up on, and jumped to conclusions. We all know how family is, they believe they know you better than anyone else.
It's not like that. I just want to force myself to do something physical, since all my interests and hobbies are quite intellectual, and I thought water could make the aerobic workout easier and more enjoyable. Apparently, it doesn't, you sweat all the same. But well, I hope I will find a way to make this training be fun at the end.
So here I am, well equipped in this small room with morning people, a few fellas later in their 50's and someone my age. They all smile like they're being suggested. And they all look to have a proper place on this world. Thanks God that gym Diva I saw on the tread mill first thing as I entered isn't part of this freaks team. I wonder how those retouched lips can even drink from the bottle, but well, it's her problem. Mine is to survive this little South American Hitler here.
"Now run, babies, run! and Keep those arms underwater. Down!"
"I'm no baby, but thanks for that!" someone murmurs. At which everybody laughs hysterically. Dear, shut up and do your work out! Ops, sorry. Okay, this is not the right attitude. These people are here to work out and are probably enjoying, more than me, so I need to respect them. Enough now, I'll concentrate.
I turned 38 last month so in one thing my brother is probably right: the mythical, overrated critical 40's are approaching. I have a 6-year-Aquarian at home and, even if she treats me like one of her peers at time, I have to face that adulthood is at the door. My friend Sandra always jokes about how it already started to show, in cute and mild ways for now. The woman in front of me, running like mad, whom my body seems mummified compared to, must be over her 70's. I wonder how I will look like one day.
Not that I care, of course, even though sometimes I have this vivid imagination about my future. For the first time ever, it worries me a bit. I don't want to die of a slow, painful death. I still want to be able to do activities that I take for granted now without 20 minutes of stretching before I begin. That's also why I came here. Damn, let me run then! I need to push myself out of my comfort zone because I know it's good for me.
"Babies, babies, you're doing good! You'll have wonderful abs after this excercise. Upper! Upper! Come on!"
Gosh, I hope my abds will be remodeled before I acknowledge to myself that certain situations and skills are just not my bag. I'll keep working out, I want to test the line between comfort zone and I-hate-this-place before I throw in the towel. Maybe I can do it. If only I could find a reason to be here, a worthy one, then everything will be more motivating.
"Go match the woman next to you for this exercise now. Work together, please!" and I suddenly notice my partner recently botoxed face.
I smile for the first time ever and suddenly think about the Nutella treat I'm entitled later in the privacy and comfort of my house. Yes, maybe the afterwards prospect is the only motivating factor. And so maybe, no, I can't do this at all. Maybe.