Level One: Using my favorite(for now) CD, it takes 4 songs to get from my house to Hubby’s work, 2 from the in-laws’ to the gym, & 3 from home to the parenting class. The first four songs on the CD are my absolute favorite for singing at the top of my lungs. Perhaps I should visit Hubby for lunch more often.
Level Two: Kickboxing this morning. This is, I think, the most popular class at our gym. (Zumba just started last week, and may take the lead soon.) It’s amazing nobody gets clocked while we practice our jabs and hooks. The instructor wears these punchbag gloves instead of regular boxing gloves so that she can go around and help student aim or follow-through correctly, or just to pump them up. I really hate that kind of attention, and while I realize that it would ultimately help my form and then my fitness level, I have been grateful not to be subject to it thus far.
There are a few hardcore students that maybe box for real outside of class. They get a lot of her attention and I am so down with that. She came over today. To the gimp’s corner, where it was me, a very active old man (a senior citizen who wears about three braces to work out but is at almost all the classes I am), & someone who may be border-line special needs. We take a lot of breaks and shortcuts over in my corner. I have no idea what possessed her to stand in front of me with those damned punchbag gloves, but she did.
And apparently she was impressed. She wouldn’t stop saying (screaming) about how great my form and strength were. Of course I got a couple pointers, because really I am pretty new at this and even if I weren’t I am sure I will never set my feet right most of the time. But even after moving on she kept commenting on how good I did. It’s embarrassing to admit, but I totally appreciated the praise. Even though it was probably some school-teacher tactic to keep me going, it DID work.