#100percentmusclewoman

Hello, my spandex sidekick!  Welcome back to my sweaty corner of the internet.

I'm going to need a mop up in aisle 2.
I’m going to need a mop up in aisle 2.

I’ve mentioned previously that, on the list of admirable facets of my wife, Melissa, “Jazzercise Instructor’ ranks high up there right after “Ability to patiently tolerate a difficult spouse”.  I can’t remember if I’ve mentioned that she did this instructor job as a hobby, second to her primary career path as a patent-filing paralegal.   Well, after 5 years of hard service, the job got to a stress level that she could no longer tolerate, and so she exited stage left with middle fingers erect, at the beginning of April.

April has be an interesting month, then, because while I am around the house doing my normal job (for which I work from home), Melissa is also now just hanging around, working on household projects or learning new Jazzercise routines.   She’s much less stressed out and far happier, which makes me happy as well.  She’s always been one to make up songs spontaneously, but the other night I heard her making up a song about herself, from within the echoing concert halls of her shower, titled “One hundred percent muscle woman!”.   She’s always one for flexing her muscly form, forcing me to acknowledge her toned physique, and now we have a new song to serve as the soundtrack.

FEEL THE FITNESS!
FEEL THE FITNESS!

Probably also worth noting that this is the same woman who declared that she would NEVER work out, about 2 years ago.   #100PercentMuscleWoman

I hit 100 classes since Jan 1 at Jazzercise yesterday, so I’m 2/3rds of the way to my low-shouldered t-shirt.  The Helene watch is in full effect, but I am pretty sure there’s a good handful of classmates that have up to 120 classes at this point, so there’s no way I’m winning this contest.  Still, at this rate, I should have it around July 4th.  What better way to celebrate America’s Independence Day than liberating my swarthy shoulders from the confines of their oppressive garments.  Classmates will stop and stare at my shimmies, considering whether Michelangelo should have painted me on some cathedral ceiling instead of that “Adam” lump, who probably had very few jazzercise classes under his belt, comparatively.

Melissa recently ordered a few North Face sports bras.  These have a pocket built into the front of them, presumably so a runner could stow small necessities in there.  It even came with a little suggestion card as to what you should put inside this feature, depicting money, pills and a key to a car.  Melissa remarked that this Bra sounds like its advertising a pretty kickass party that we should RSVP to.  I went the other way with it:  fearing that North Face could encounter litigation for improper use of this pocket, they should instead display a placard of things that they recommend SHOULDN’T go in there, like a pet hedgehog, pink fiberglass attic insulation, or scalding hot coffee.  Of course, Melissa’s immutable singularity of focus meant that this pocket would be used for one specific item: candy.  “I can’t wait until I wear this to Jazzercise and announce that I’m going to pull a snickers bar out of my bra in the middle of class!” she exclaimed.

Wherever this bra is up to, I want in!
The actual suggestion card included:  Wherever this bra is up to, I want in!

Finally, May 1st marks “Sassy Pants Day” at Jazzercise.  This is basically the Jazzercise High-Holidays, a time of remembrance and reflection for our people, as well as celebration.   Everyone is required to source out some non-black, non-boring exercise clothes, and try to out-sassy their peers.  I’m thinking about ordering this little number to really ring in the warm weather.

So i just go ahead and pour the bleach directly on my eyeballs after seeing this?  Or dilute it down with gasoline?
So i just go ahead and pour the bleach directly on my eyeballs after seeing this? Or dilute it down with gasoline?
#100percentmusclewoman

Where’d I go?!

Sorry, dear reader, for my absence of late.  I’ve taken a few weeks off from blogging, or at least, from posting what I’ve been writing.   A queue of them has formed on my laptop, but  they didn’t pass hilarity muster.   Quality control is very important over here, at Mazzercise central.

Still, I bring good news.  The charged smell of of competition and gym socks is back in the air.   I am, at present, about 85 Jazzercise classes into the year.  I go to a lot of back-to-back classes, and so they stack up quickly, and remind me that I’m on a lunatic binge.  What does it matter, you wonder, that I’m even bothering to count?  It so happens there is…..

ANOTHER CHALLENGE!

soak in the majesty!
soak in the majesty!

Look at that amazing low shouldered number!  And I had just shaved mine the other day and was looking for something to show them off about town!  If I wear this down to the local watering hole, do you think I’ll get some free drinks out of it?

Every year, Jazzercise offers the “150 Class Challenge”.  If you can swing 150 classes before Dec 31st rolls around on the calendar, you are ceremoniously bestowed the pictured item.  You are now a black belt rank, and you must use your time-honed dance skills only for good – never to hurt.

This is the SuperBowl of Jazzercise, incidentally.  Hitting this magical number means your name goes in the book, and a polaroid of you goes on the class bulletin board starting in the upper left corner, in the order in which they are earned.  There the winners align, beaming in workout spandex at their lofty achievement.  My heart is smitten with the thought of actually being the first person this year to earn this prestigious honor, with my polarid thumbtacked firstmost in the upper left corner.  What colossal bragging rights to knock this goal out by June, and have the rest of the year to bask in my newfound prestige and casually humblebrag a little.  I could saunter up to folks before class in my new, more revealing workout gear and ask if they’d checked out the winners on the bulletin board.  “Oh, just me up there still?  I haven’t looked at it since the photo shoot, and that was so long ago!”

It was a better time.  Rainbows were coming out of most stuff.
It was a better time. Rainbows were coming out of most stuff.

But this is not a prize so easily won by an increasingly fit 37 year old man, in the prime of his life.   I’m likely to be outjazzercised by the yearly winner,  a feisty 5 foot tall octogenarian named Helene.  When it comes to the 150 day challenge, Helene is ruthless – like the Ghengis Khan of Jazzercise shirt winning.  She does more double classes than I do, and more consistently.   I warned her in class that I just may slash her tires one day to sabotage her ability to rack up classes for a bit, so I could catch up.  I remind her she should be enjoying her golden years in southernly climates more often.   She complains that someone keeps leaving torn pages from a TV guide on her workout bag, with Matlock or Downton Abbey marathons circled in highlighter and paperclipped to coupons for pizza delivery.   Still, when i see Helene’s class count well over 90, i sigh a little bit at the inevitable.

I think I’m going to look pretty sweet in that thing, regardless which side of Helene’s polaroid I end up.

This may cause the very threads of space-time to unravel.
This may cause the very threads of space-time to unravel.

Another bit of news:  A rare occurrence was observed and documented at Melissa’s 11am class, last Saturday.  A visiting instructor from the Baltimore area was in town for Easter and came to our center with her jazzercising husband!  Gasps were elicited from the class when they walked in, and more than one fuscia 2lb hand-weight was dropped to cover a mouth agape.  Photos were taken to capture such an event; another husband / wife jazzercise couple, beaming in workout spandex and rarer than a bigfoot sighting, made the jazzercise facebook rounds that evening.

Favorite current Jazzercise routine:  Uptown Funk.  It pushes the upper limits of how much sassy hip walking scientists can pack into a 4 minute song.  We are really living in a golden age.

Where’d I go?!