Aerobics Instructors

You know what I hate most about exercise classes (other than the obvious fact that I'm sweating in public)? The stupid instructors!

This morning I took a spinning class, for which my butt bones refuse to forgive me, which was taught by some perky sadist who weighed all of about 20lbs. There I was beet red, puffing away up some figurative hill, and there she sits, gracefully glistening while encouraging us to increase the resistance. How she can speak and pedal that fast is entirely unclear. I couldn't get out a whole sentence if I tried, yet there she is, just a talkin' away, telling us we're not working hard enough. And do you know at the end of class- which ran 5 minutes long such that I would have run screaming from the room had I been able to gather the breath to make sound- she invited us back for both of her evening classes! Well of course you're a skinny little pretty-sweating thing, you teach 3 freakin classes a day and probably don't even eat in between! If my ass hurts from that bike seat, knowing how well padded my ass must be, how yours isn't broken I do not know. YOU are a freak of nature.

I hate her.

In fact, I hate all the instructors at my gym. They are all entirely too in shape. Now I understand that it seems counter-intuitive to want a fat trainer, but I do not find overly fit folks all that inspiring. Mostly I spend the 50-minute classes imagining them stuffing their faces with cake until they bulge out of their little spandex clothing. I don't want a fatty per se, but perhaps just a regular-shaped person, someone you can tell has great cardiovascular health but perhaps enjoys a good meal now and again.

I don't actually believe that the yoga instructor's lean frame is the result of sun salutations alone. Just like the abs on that pilates instructor require more than thrice-weekly mat routines. No, all these perfectly honed forms demand a level of starvation I simply refuse to explore. I mean, I've got muscles in my arms, but the level of deprivation I would have to achieve in order to see said muscles...well, that just doesn't sound fun to me.

So screw you, skinny instructor people. You can teach our classes but you can't guilt the fat off our asses!!!


PS...I am going to preemptively tell you that in my childhood the Queen Mum was an aerobics instructor, of the bright unitard-wearing variety, who use to hoot and hollar at a large class of stay-at-home mothers a few times a week. Yes, Mum, you too were that skinny and annoyingly perky, though at that time in my life you annoyed me personally for many other reasons. Love ya, mean it.