Helping out a friend
As an act of charity and concerned that she would feel lonely without us, my friend Nancy and I accompanied our friend Noreen to a workout class this morning. There was no need: half of our former yoga class was in attendance.
Assured that Noreen was not alone and overwhelmed by the equipment we were expected to collect, Nancy suggested we bail before the class started. Good Midwesterners that we are, we stayed to fulfill our commitment.
We settled into the back of the gym as Noreen, ever the teacher, distanced herself from us, scrambling toward the front. We were stuck.
Okay, it was good exercise
I admit we had a workout. But after an hour of struggling to follow disjointed instructions, I hit my mental ceiling. Only the piles of equipment, evidence as to our presence, kept us from slinking out. Good Midwesterners that we are, we remained to clean up the mess.
I spent the final 15 minutes relaxing and stretching while contemplating the coffee I would order when released.
I have my limits
During the 80s, after many sessions, I walked out of an aerobics class, unable to focus on the exercises. The repetitive jumping and writhing seemed senseless, benefiting the instructor more than the students.
My mind’s inability to attend any activity longer than an hour seems to get more pronounced with age. Normally I break monotony with a walk outside or a spontaneous outing, both options limited by summer heat and Covid restrictions.
For now, I will avoid classes that run over 60 minutes. Or plan my escape ahead of time.
Good Midwesterner that I am, I wouldn’t want to disappoint anyone.