In keeping up with my promise to continue going to the gym, I've decided to start taking advantage of some of the classes that are available...even the ones I thought to be a little hokey. First, there was the Zumba class - a dancey kind of class with latin inspiration that left me feeling like I was in one of Shakira's music video's with a room full of women in their 40's and 50's. It was a hectic day leading up to that class and after having stayed late at work I had little time to effectively prepare for the class and even arrived 2 minutes into it. When participating in a class of the fitness variety, I refuse to be up at the front because something about people behind me makes me nervous. Fortunately, I scored a spot at the far right side of the room, in a poorly lit area (bonus!). I realized almost instantaneously that I had donned the wrong underwear for this particular activity as I could feel it riding with each swivel of my hips. Knowing full well that I had a VPL issue, I was thankful to have secured a spot in the room where this would not be noticed aside from the individual directly behind me. This being my first Zumba class however I was not aware of the fact that the instructor not only makes everyone rotate angles so that each of the three people around me (one beside, one infront and one behind) got a view of the VPL, but the instructor herself also moves around the room. This means that for a period of time I was technically at the front of the room with my VPL for all to see with emphasis on that particular location thanks to the hip-swinging activities I was forced into. I had to make a difficult decision - to allow my fellow Zumbanian's to see the dreaded VPL or to have them see me 'fix it' by subtly removing the underwear from between my cheeks. VPL - you win.
The next class was a yoga/tai chi infusion which I've been quite honestly fearful of trying due to the degree of bare-footedness that takes place. I decided to buck up and give it a shot, with the promise to myself that I would keep my socks on and do my best to focus on my discomfort with the physical activity as opposed to the discomfort with all the naked feet in my surroundings. Just as class is about to begin, one of my favourite teachers from my high school days comes walking up to me (as I'm all disheveled and grubby) looking fantastic in her yoga garb. We spend a few minutes catching up before the class begins, where naturally, she's at the front of the room and I'm hiding out in the back corner. Things get started and I notice that my balance is well...not existent, while she's doing all the advanced moves. You may be thinking that she was at the front of the room, so it's no big deal - she wouldn't know how bad I sucked, right? Well, the mirrors all over the frickin' room ensured she got to see even the most embarrassing moments, such as when I was trying to do something like this:
Only imagine doing that and leaning forward so your chest is on your thigh. Now take the arm opposite to the leg you're laying on, and put the elbow of that arm on the ground infront of your chin with your fist up by your face. Then take your opposite arm, raise that elbow up to the ceiling and use that hand to cup the fist of your other hand (then sing the alphabet backwards while simultaneously finding a cure for cancer and coming up with the most complex mathematical question known to man). I was just getting into this pose when the instructor said to try and look up towards the ceiling once in position....this resulted in one fluid movement that caused me to not only reach the optimal position, but to keep on rolling until I was right on my back. Of course this was also a time/position when my former music teacher/yoga guru from up front happened to be facing my direction and I'm confident I heard her (among others) stifle a laugh, since no one else seemed to have the troubles I did. (I bet ten million to one that you all will go home tonight or leave your computer right now to try this position...and those of you who have the same problem as me will sympathize, and those of you who master it will judge us. Jerks.)
Incidentally, I left the class uncomfortably sweaty and woke up the next morning feeling like I had been kicked in the ribs. I'll be going back next week.
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This week Ryan and I are watching the house, kids and pets (2 of the three dogs and one cat) belonging to my Aunt and Uncle while they're off on vacation. We really kicked it off with a bang so to speak. Saturday afternoon we assumed custody of all that my Aunt and Uncle hold dear out in an isolated little town. The afternoon was pretty standard for a Saturday, and we weren't having any problems - until about 2:30am when Ryan and I awoke to the dogs going insane. He and I both run downstairs to see what they're going so crazy about, when I realize two things:
1. The dog is barking viciously - and aiming his aggression at the door from the garage into the house.
2. This is when I realized that while on the way downstairs I heard a door close after hearing a guys voice saying the dogs name, obviously trying to calm it down (Unfortunately, I was the only one to hear this). I assumed it was the 16 year old sneaking out (or back in), or one of his buddies sneaking out.
As I hear the garage door closing, Ryan sees a figure out on the street infront of the house and he opens up the door and calls out the name of the 16 year old, but the guy says "It's Shane. I closed the door." (FYI - the 16 year old's name is not Shane). Content that it wasn't our guy sneaking out he shuts the door. I watched the guy walk down the street and felt unsure about what to do with the situation since the guy could've been a friend of one of the boys, but both boys slept through the whole incident.
The next morning we ask some questions, and find out that the guy who was IN THE HOUSE at 2:30 in the morning was one of the drunk neighbours, and that the 16 year old had left the garage door open when he went out for a smoke after Ryan and I had gone to bed. Apparently in this subdivision, an open garage means "Please, walk into my house.". I ask you, what does it say about a guy who will walk into a house at 2:30am when the vehicles of the people who live there are not there, and this is barking viciously at you:
Although maybe the guy got off easy. I'm finding that sometimes it's hard to tell what's worse - the threat of a dog (that's mostly Bull Mastiff) wanting to rip out your throat, or the wrath of a 16 year old who's feeling a "little" defensive because you told him to do his homework. I think the teenager will soon find out that the real danger is a PMS'ing woman with little tolerance for academic slacking.