Yesterday my aunt invited (dragged) me to her weekly workout class with her friends.
I had just fallen asleep to have the nap of all naps when I heard sirens, disco music and stomping (ok a touch dramatic). Suffice it to say I was awakened by (one of) my overly energetic family members.
I struggled to open my eyes and did consider sleeping under my bed as part of a rousing game of hide-and-go-seek but decided to ignore the intense sleep deprivation of the last 11.5 months (it’s been a busy year), get myself together and see what my aunt and her buddies have been up to all this time.
My expectations were low.
Yes, my aunt raves about this instructor and how great she is. Yes, I was doubtful that an exercise routine designed for a group of 50-somethings would get my heart pumping.
We arrived at a nearby synagogue where a group of 15 friends (an extended Ya-Ya sisterhood if you will) have been gathering for the better part of 4 years.
I immediately met the instructor and the other ladies. My first impression noted how great the instructor looked. I found out later she was about 20 years older than I thought.
I should’ve assumed that anyone who looked better than 85% of my age group and was about 40 years older knew what she was doing.
But I didn’t.
She had us moving non-stop for an hour. We kicked, salsa-ed, planked, lifted and curled our way through a version of Jane Fonda’s best with weights.
Nevertheless, my over-confident self increased the difficulty when possible (even when it was a struggle to keep up) by grabbing heavier weights than everyone else and taking no breaks.
I paid for it.
My abs hurt. My arms hurt. My hip flexors hurt.
The last 24 hours have consisted of soreness, restricted movement, admiration and reflection on maintaining an active lifestyle throughout one’s life.
Thank you to my aunt and this truly amazing instructor for an Awesome workout.