Let's get physical! In an awkward, unattractive, unfulfilling sort of way.

I hit the gym early today. Earlier than usual anyway. It was the first Sunday in a long while that I was able to get up and functioning before noon. There was a Pilates class with a new instructor that I was interested in trying out and it started at 9:30. For once I was on time. The aerobics room was sparse and I couldn’t tell who the heck was the instructor (Marisela).

These women all obviously knew each other from previous once-week class participation of some sort. They were all older than me with tan, spotted, leathery skin and expensive looking tennis shoes. They greeted each other by their first names and seemed to gravitate toward pre-determined sections of the work out area. No one greeted or even spoke to me. Clearly I was an outsider.

I followed their actions – having been a member of this gym for six years and never actually set foot in this room before. Up until this point I thought this was where the trainers dragged and stored the gelatinous bodies that collapsed in the Spinning classes.

Hockey mom in front of me walked to the weight room and came back with a foam yoga mat. I did the same. Plus-sized PTA mom to my right grabbed what looked like a bouncy Bocce ball from the storage area near the front mirror. Hers was bright green. I picked up a bright green ball too. Petite Asian soccer mom (who, for whatever reason, kept on her weightlifting gloves the entire time), spread her fluffy Nike towel over the yoga mat. I shook out my blue, not quite-a-washcloth-towel I ripped off from a Carnival cruise ship and spread it over my mat. The corner of my towel had a chocolate pudding stain. I flipped it over and tried to remember when I had chocolate pudding last and why it would be on my towel.

Marisela blended in with the rest of the average women. She had a thick German accent which I hoped wasn’t the sign of an exercise tyrant. No German accent ever sounded pleasant. The first couple of songs on the boom box were No Doubt. I perked up. Marisela dove right in without so much as a “Good morning class.”

“Sit on your hiney, legggs spred all zee way oot in frunt. Grab zee ball!”

I grabbed zee ball. Suddenly I was mildly retarded. I don’t take aerobics classes for this simple reason. There’s too much going on. We were supposed to be stretching, holding the rubber bocce ball in front of us. The ball in fact was weighted. I read the printing as beads of sweat immediately formed on my eyelids. Six pounds. That little green sucker only weighed six pounds? Why did it feel like 20? I looked around the room. Everyone else had yellow balls except for Helga Von Muscle on my right, and myself. Yellow was a happy color. Yellow was also probably way lighter. My fault for not reading fine print.

We flexed and shifted. The obliques work was probably the worse. I gave up on translating Maricela’s orders and just mirrored her movements. The ball became slippery with sweat. I arched and crunched it over my head bending my arms as she instructed and almost dropped it in my face. Looking decent went out the window.

The class ended with everyone in a plank position. I couldn’t hold myself up on the mat properly. My arms kept slipping from under me and the sweat was making them itch. I felt totally disgusting. The class didn’t even last a full hour and here I was looking like a rape victim. I collapsed in a puddle of perspiration next to my yoga mat. I knocked against the stupid 1,000 pound rubber ball and watched it roll against the wall. I’m sticking with the meatheads on the other playground from now on.