Tag Archives: exercise

Adventures of a Reluctant Cheer Mom…Wendy Does Zumba…

Note: This is a continuation of a series I started last year during cheer competition season.  Read the first two installments here and here.

Last night, I was dragged  went to a Zumba fundraiser for Hope’s cheerleading team at her school.  Everyone I know who’s tried Zumba raves about it: “It’s so much fun!”  We were told to arrive early, because there’d be a line (there wasn’t).  We paid our five dollars, and got a small piece of paper to write our names on to win a free Zumba class.  Hope wasted no time telling me that she wasn’t going to stand beside me.  “I don’t know you,” she declared.  Apparently, my old blue T-shirt and navy yoga pants (slightly wrinkled) weren’t up to her standards (she should be thankful I didn’t opt for shorts – I haven’t shaved my legs in a few months)!  I did drag out my brand new white Dr. Scholl’s (“I’m gellin'”) sneakers for the occasion!  Nobody else had those!

 I used to work out three times a week…those days are long gone.  Let’s just say I’m no “Skinny Minnie”…the only exercise I get now is walking between the computer and the refrigerator, and chewing.  I love to dance, but I make it up as I go along, much to my children’s horror (I tried to learn the tango once…it was a disaster)!  Looking around the room, I was happy not to be the oldest one there (I was 37 when I had Hope)…some of the cheerleaders had brought their grandmas along.  There was even one cheer dad, whose belly hung far over the waist of his shorts…I really hoped he didn’t have a heart attack during the class!

 As the cheer moms and girls milled about, sizing up the competition waiting for the class to start, we were approached by one of the Zumba instructors…she was about my age and carried a clipboard.  Attached to the clipboard, there was a waiver releasing the Zumba people, the event organizers, the cheerleading team, the school, the school board, and God, from any liability should anyone incur an injury.  This should have raised warning bells for me, but I quickly signed the paper with both mine and Hope’s names (I even remembered to give the pen back!).

At this point, I noticed that both Zumba instructors had little streamers attached to their pants at various points…I wondered why, but kept my curiosity to myself.  The woman who had the clipboard also had something around her hips that I’d seen belly dancers wear:

She wore something like this (photo from Henry G Dance Accessories)...

Finally, it was time for the class.  The older instructor gave us a bit of a rundown about Zumba, and stressed that it takes three or four classes to get comfortable doing it (I beg to differ).  The younger instructor, a tall blonde about nineteen, told us to line up…adults on one side, and kids on the other.  I made sure there was lots of space around me.  Then the hell music started.  Remember the eighties, when aerobics were all the rage?  I used to imitate the aerobics instructors, and my kids would laugh themselves silly!  Picture aerobics, with dance music (salsa instead of disco)…that’s what we were trying to do doing.

Just when I’d just about have the routine figured out (usually halfway through the song), it would change!  I refrained from jumping, as I didn’t want to put an eye out damage my bad knees.  I was clapping at the wrong time, going left instead of right, and flailing my arms helplessly.  My hips refused to move the way the young nymph instructor’s did…if a priest had seen the way she was throwing her booty around, he would have performed an exorcism on the spot (when I was relating this to Jim, he regretted his decision to stay home)!  Those streamers on her pants were horizontal!  When she told us to “shimmy,” I didn’t even try! 

Three songs in, I was breathless, and in desperate need of oxygen water.  Filling my water bottle up beforehand would have been an excellent idea (I had about a quarter bottle left from work).  I waited until the end of the fourth song before hauling my butt across the floor getting my water from my purse (which I’d conveniently left in the far corner of the gym).  I downed it in one gulp!

Luckily, I wasn’t the only one having difficulty…several of the other moms were looking a little winded and bewildered (although the seventy-year-old behind me was whooping it up)!  I hoped that most of them were concentrating hard enough on watching the instructors that they wouldn’t notice how badly I was doing!  Hope, however, could see everything from across the room…if looks could kill, I wouldn’t be alive to write this!

The event was scheduled to end at 7:30, but the drill sergeants instructors kept on going.  At 7:40, I dragged Hope out the door…Anna had to be at her school for a dance in 20 minutes!  For once, I was thankful for extracurricular activities!  In the van, Hope told Jim and Anna about how badly I’d embarrassed her.  Kaylee called on my cellphone to confirm that I was still alive. 

I really hope we didn’t win the free class…I know some of you guys think Zumba is “fun”, but I’ll stick to walking and riding my bike!      

 

 

 

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Fear of Falling…Terror on Two Wheels…

[Note to the reader…this story really isn’t that scary…I just wanted to grab you with a catchy headline!]

She was beautiful!  Painted dark metallic blue, she hung suspended in a line with other vehicles of different colours.  The chrome on her handlebars shone, and the whitewalls on her 24″ tires were the colour of new-fallen snow.  Her seat was white padded leather, clean as a whistle!  On a metal plate screwed to the head tube, the brand name “Columbia” was emblazoned.  She only had one speed (slow) and coaster brakes which one engaged by pedalling backward.  It was July of 1967, and my parents and I were standing in a hardware store somewhere near Toledo, Ohio – they were letting me pick out my first bike for my sixth birthday.

This bike is as close to mine as I could find...mine was darker blue with a white seat...

My dad paid for the bike ($33, I think), and loaded the box into the trunk of our Chevy Bel-Air.  In those days, you had to assemble your new bike…I don’t remember much about that process…Dad might have done it after I’d gone to bed. 

The bike did not come with training wheels.  My dad was a minister, so we lived in the parsonage next to the church.  They had a big parking lot behind the building with a square-shaped gravel driveway around the perimeter.  This was a perfect place to learn to ride.  As long as I stayed close to the edge of the driveway, I would hopefully fall into the soft grass if I lost my balance (it was a great theory – not always true).  Dad came out with me the first couple of days, and held the bike as I got the feel of it.  I spent many hours learning, until I could finally ride without falling – we went through a lot of Band-Aids that week.  There was a deep, water-filled ditch near the front of the parking lot…I remember one miscue when I dumped the bike rather than end up in the water.

Riding my bike became my new favourite activity…I can’t believe my skin wasn’t burned to a crisp…I don’t remember my mom ever putting sunscreen on us!

Two years later, my little brother was very excited when he got a two-wheeler for his fifth birthday – a green Sears Spyder with monkey handlebars and a banana seat!  Mom retired his little red tricycle for good.

Jeff on his bike...

Jeff was a lot more cautious than his big sister…those training wheels stayed on for three years!  He’s loosened up a little…here he is on his bike now (with his wife, Bev)…

"Look, Ma! No training wheels!"

We lived on a busy rural road, and weren’t allowed to ride our bikes there until we were older.  We had a well-worn path around our house that we rode on…Dad installed a wooden ramp over the little ditch at one side.  The driveway had a fairly steep rise…you had to stand up on your pedals to make it up.  If we were getting rowdy, my parents used to say, “Go out and run around the house!,” and we would!

When I was about 12, I had been working for a couple of years and saving my money…I wanted a 10-speed!  It would be a lot easier delivering papers, especially for customers with long, hilly driveways.  I bought it on a summer trip to visit our relatives in Ohio…it was $81, which was cheaper than it would have been had I bought it in Canada.  I opted for a men’s bike this time – I didn’t mind swinging my leg over the crossbar.  The new bike was a beautiful shade of magenta, and had drop handlebars with handbrakes.  I had a hard time getting used to the new brakes…I’d pedal backward, and nothing happened!  The seat was definitely not as comfortable as my old one!  It took me a while to figure out the gear-shifting system.

This bike is similar to my ten-speed - mine was magenta with black tape on the handlebars...

I moved out of my parents’ house for good in 1983…my bikes stayed in their barn for years.  Eventually, my mom probably had a yard sale and got rid of them.  In the cities I lived, I used my legs or public transit to get around…I was scared to even think about sharing the road with that many cars!  Also, St. John’s, Newfoundland and Saint John, New Brunswick are both quite hilly…hard work to maneuver a bike in!

Duckworth Street, St. John's, Newfoundland - notice the grade of the side street...

 Hope had been bugging me for weeks to go for a walk with her…I finally gave in last night.  She says, “I want to ride my bike.” 

“I can’t keep up with you if you ride your bike,” I countered.  After thinking for a minute, I said, “Maybe I could borrow Anna’s bike.”  On my way out the door, I gave Jim a stern warning, “There will be no photographs!”

Off we went to the garage.  “You can borrow my Hannah Montana helmet,” Hope offered.

Can You See Me Wearing This?

I passed, and wore Anna’s plain blue one!

I pulled Anna’s bike into the gravel driveway, and sat on the seat…it was a little low, but I went with it.  I was off!  I’d forgotten how much I enjoyed riding – it’s such a feeling of freedom.  On my second round of our circular driveway, my thighs started to ache.  Every time I headed for the end by the road, I’d have to stop and walk my bike the last twenty feet…I couldn’t make it up the hill!  I didn’t bother trying to figure out Anna’s gears…nowadays, they’re on the handlebars…imagine that!  By the fourth circuit, I decided I’d better stop…didn’t want to get too much of a good thing!  Hope helpfully told me that I “should get in shape!”  She then asked me how much weight I needed to lose.  After I told her, she replied generously, “I don’t think you look that fat…just a little bit in the bum…”

I’m contemplating asking for another bike for my birthday…I wonder if they make Harrison Ford helmets?

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