A group of us library folks are taking a “Wellness” class this summer at the East Field House. It’s called “Get On the Ball,” which provides many opportunities for on the ball jokes, and is basically a pilates course utilising large rubber workout balls. Occasionally I feel dorky…we usually start the class by raising the balls over our heads and to the right, then lowering them to ground by our left foot. Over and over. We look like we’re trying out for some version of “A Chorus Line” or a School House Rock expose on the inner workings of a giant atom.
Of course, when you venture out into the world, especially to a class involving giant rubber balls, you’re bound to run into some characters. We’ve tried to fill the class with people we know, but a few random folks have filtered in. And this is Santa Cruz, where a few random folks are generally a little extra random if you know what I mean. We have an older guy with a with a collection of sweatbands who is very intent about working out his upper abs. He asks about them frequently. And of course we have the lady who is gym-serious. She’s really into exhaling on the exertion, in an intense-zen sort of way.
As our class ended today, and we were all staggering to put our weights back on the shelf she said to me “You have really good work out posture.” This is worth mentioning, because as I type this I’m slumped in my chair and my foot has fallen asleep because I’ve been sitting on for the past half hour. I won’t be able to walk when I eventually try and stand up. Good posture is generally not one of my strong suits. No one’s ever complimented my work out posture before.
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