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?!