Monday night I decided to try out Bethesda's new workout craze, Zengo. I know, I should've written this immediately after, but I barely had the energy to catch up on my pinterest boards. Thank you for your forgiveness. (I'm assuming.)
Well. If you like the aerobic workout of spinning mixed with the choreography of Zumba then you will HATE YOURSELF for deciding to come to this class. Zengo-ly moly. I realized about 45 minutes in that I had signed up for the 65 MINUTE CLASS. Maybe the name "Power Hour" should have tipped me off... THE PAST IS THE PAST. Judge me once you get a powdered wig. (Note: If you do, please take a selfie and send.)
Devil in a blue tank (blue tank, blue tank).
First, let me set up the scene. The owner basically jacked everything from Soul Cycle and plopped it down in one of the most prosperous cities in the nation. SMART. I was surrounded by housewives and a true rarity -- Bethesda Japs. Usually they stay on their Potomac turf, but they sauntered on in with their tank tops and unnecessary half tank tops over those tank tops. They probably would've started some Sharks/Jets snapping if their arms weren't laden with evil eye bracelets. I reserved bike 43, which was in the back row so I wouldn't be that conspicuous heart attack victim -- distracting everyone else from their "Zen"... go... The teacher approached me and helped set up my bike. She explained in a sweet voice "You're gonna have such a good time, and remember you can go at your own pace." LIAR, LIAR, LULULEMON PANTS/TANK ON FIRE!!!!
|Sidebar| Has anyone told women in DC and Bethesda that there's been a recession? Because these people look like they are sponsored. (And most of them are! Alcoholic housewife joke!!! Insert laugh here!)
I put my trust in you, instructor! In your kind eyes and warm smile... How was I to know you were the Devil's minion?? She was Beelzebub in a bandana (also lululemon).
They claim Zengo is a party on a bike. Sure. A party where you "accidentally" mixed a box of white wine, natty light, and whisky. Then decided to run up the "Rocky Stairs" in front of the Philadelphia Museum of Art, and thought "Hey, I'm not sick enough. Why don't I get a cheesesteak from Pat's AND Geno's??" Wasn't me. I was just holding those cheesesteaks for a friend.
Aint no party like a Zengo party! Cuz a Zengo party don't-- DEAR LORD IN HEAVEN HALLOWED BE THY NAME END THIS MADNESS.
I can only comment on the parts of the workout where I came to from my pushup blackouts. That's right -- pushups, while moving your legs. I can't even successfully walk and talk (Damn! Any dreams of being in a Sorkin production -- dashed!), let alone participate in only what can be described as "Ibiza Boot Camp." (TM'd. Just now.)
The music. The music? Would you call it music? I realized about 5 songs in that I forgot my requisite rap airhorn! So that really threw me off. The instructor would say things like "One more song!" to encourage us through the exercise. One more song? A DANCE SONG CAN BE 20 MINUTES. Only one more song! Sure, 20 minutes seems to go by reeeeaaaal fast when you're on ecstasy.
Also, let's get back to her lies. There was no going my own pace. There was one pace, dictated by Pitbull's "ritim" which she SCREAMED OUT. "ONE TWO ONE TWO ONE TWO." I guess yelling it wasn't enough because she dismounted her bike to remind the rider, inches from our face. I think at one point between the ass tap-backs and the handlebar gymnastics I screamed "MY BODY, MY CHOICE!!!" to no avail.
Who? Who doesn't want to wear the lululemon? Why you no wear the lemon?
I didn't know where to look. If I focused on the mirror I would look at the condensation which only reminded me that I was locked in a room with a cloud cycle of sweat. So I would take a look at other riders. There was this one girl -- when the instructor told us to "GOOOOFOOOOROOIIIIIIITTTTYEAHAHHH" (which I assumed translated to "Increase your speed") this one girl's legs became a blur. I had a "Ferris Bueller" flashback -- the Ferrari on cinder blocks. WE WERE ALL FERRARIS ON CINDER BLOCKS. I'm concerned that no one else seemed to evaluate the risk if our bikes suddenly became un-sationaried.
But, I'm a survivor. Oh yes. I'm a survivor (what?) I'm gonna make it (what?) I will survive (what?) Keep on survivin' (what?). All of that being said... I'm most likely buying a package deal.
Before ZenGo, my shirt was gray. (*Weird face result of muscular fatigue. Everywhere.)
No comments:
Post a Comment