Oh, but I do have one short story I feel inclined to tell for purely self-sacrificing purposes...
Wednesday morning I wake up early and head off to the fitness center I joined (the most posh fitness center I have ever seen, Danish designer chandelier, juice bar, ridiculous). I decided I was going to try the High Puls class which can best be described as a mix between bootcamp and turbo kickboxing. I arrive only to find six Danish women who can be described as nothing short of beasts. Now I use the term 'beast' often enough that you may not really understand the magnitude to which these women embodied beastliness- but trust me, these women can kick some ass. So I get all of the equipment and am relieved to see this pregnant woman, probably eight months along walk in, thinking maybe we're on the same level. We start the class with these combination turbo kickboxing moves that involve kicking your leg while simultaneously crunching your abs and pulling your arms in and moving from right side kick, to center, to left side kick. Then we do it at twice the tempo. Well turns out I am far more uncoordinated than I thought, I'm about five times worse at kickboxing than at dancing. Take a moment and let that sink in. Worse than dancing. Five times worse. So just imagine... Here are seven Danish women kickboxing just like the Bally Fitness commercials and then there's me... My leg is kicking to the left while my arm is flailing to the right and I'm crunching my abs to the center and my body is so contorted I look like some disabled teenage mutant ninja turtle. After a bit of watching this torturous attempt the teacher then comes over to try to help and after two tries she shakes her head, laughs, and walks away.
This embarrassment continues for a bit until we start to incorporate punching into the set and I find a way to make even more of a fool out of myself. Turns out I can't punch either. All I could think was, 'It's a really good thing I just slapped that guy in the bar because punching him would have been far, far worse, assuming I was even coordinated enough to hit him.'
I somehow made it through the class and scrounged up enough dignity to thank the teacher and then go run and hide for the next few hours. But it did inspire this list...
Things I learned from High Puls Class:
1. Danes are beasts, don't mess with them.
2. Pregnant Danes are even beastlier
3. Danes like to be naked in the locker room
4. They like to have long, intimate conversations with you in the locker room while naked.
5. I do not feel comfortable with naked conversations in locker rooms.
6. I feel even more uncomfortable after realizing my coordination is equal to that of a five year old.
7. I should never punch anyone, for my own sake
8. If you ever come to Denmark... never, never take a High Puls class.
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