You know... I feel like blogging again

I was telling a story the other day when it suddenly hit me: I'm a decent person again. (Well, sorta. I'm still a lousy friend but that's not the topic here.)  I'm even...almost...a little...funny. Really.

Some of my humanity has returned because it had to - I am now a professor so I must find my funny bone. If that seems odd, I promise it is true - most professors really are trying to keep you interested in class.  I found that I couldn't make pathophysiology fascinating, so I'd better intersperse the boring with some really, really funny junk that didn't come from the Internet, because the students have all seen everything funny posted on the Internet in the whole world before I even opened Facebook.

Anyway, back to my blog-self rediscovery: 

It started innocently enough.  I went to Zumba.  (I love Zumba. Yes, I even watch the infomercials for fun. Look - you have your thing and I have mine.  Let's just agree that we are all a little sick in our own way.)  We had sweat through 45 wonderfully hellish minutes when my instructor started to plead with us to attend her 15-minute Core class after Zumba.  I am usually of the skip-out-before-cooldown breed but I really like this teacher and figured she must have a poorly attended class if she was begging so pitifully.  I have this awesome friend in Zumba, so we both decided to further damage our muscles by staying for core class.

At the end of Zumba, the instructor informed us that we would need a mat and ball. Dutifully, I turned my back on the door (a critical error) to collect the needed supplies.

Allow me to pause here to explain - my love for Zumba has not made me thin.  No, I declare most faithfully, I am still fat.  Not Hollywood fat, either. The real kind - the infomercial before picture kind of fat.  My thighs touch in, well, every place.  My arms jiggle.  My boobs may one day cause me a concussion if I twirl too fast.  No, I am not any version of thin.  I'm physically fit - I currently have to run 7 mph before I get winded and I'll kick your trash if you need some proof that there are muscles beneath the flab - but I am not thin.  So, I like to hide in my Zumba class. It's easy to hide there - it's all women except some creepy but sweet old guy who comes for....well, I really prefer not to think why he attends Zumba since he doesn't even pretend to try the moves.

The point here is that I am the stereotypical fat girl in the back row at dance class.  I like it there. It's nice and I can't see what I look like in that awful, mocking mirror they insist on putting up in dance studios (like anyone needs to see how they look at Zumba - are we going to start Zumba recitals? Is 45-minute Interval going to do a live show? What is the purpose of forcing us to look at our jiggly selves stepping on our own feet in a sad attempt to get our heart rate in the target zone?).  So, let's leave this portion at the fact that I'm not overly confident in my appearance while exercising.

Anyway, as I obeyed my teacher's command, the door could be heard opening and closing. Zumba is always packed, so I assumed the class was thinning out.  I turned around anticipating an empty room.

But I was wrong. Oh yes, I was wrong.  Through that door, the Zumba crowd had left and been replaced by the largest and strongest group of men that I had ever seen assembled.  Imagine the Avengers disassembled into 30 college-age co-eds.  Oh, I do not lie - the University football team had entered. the room! They are required to attend the 6:15 core class.

I turned to my friend. She was struggling to catch a breath as she gasped, "Tu cara! Tu cara!"  Thats "Your face, Your face!" in English.  Yes, she was laughing. At my horror. Maybe she isn't such an awesome friend after all.

Unfortunately, I was trapped! I couldn't be the fat quitter! No, I had to stay.  I had to proudly take my place among the 30 most fit men I had ever seen (on a bright note - it was probably the first exercise class in ages where I wasn't the heaviest person in the room).  I laid down on my ball, aware that I officially hated my Zumba teacher and my friend and, possibly, the football team, though I am proud of their championship title.

The class was brutal.  In 5 minutes, I had put labor pain to shame. My pride forced me to lift as high as whatever guy was in my peripheral vision and that guy was tight in the midsection.  At 10 minutes, I was sure I'd broken a rib.  At 15 minutes, I was nearing death when a miracle occurred!  The guy in my peripheral vision gave this ghostly moan and rolled off his ball. 

He may be dead.  I don't know - I didn't stay to check.  The minute that brute hit the floor, my friend and I bounced off of ours and onto our feet.  I'm not sure how we accomplished it, but we had stored our balls and left the room before the teacher announced the next crunch.  All that mattered was that someone more fit than us had quit first.

I went to work the next day eager to tell this story.  As the students laughed when I acted out launching myself off that ball and out of the room, I realized that I'm legitimately happy and funny again... and that's when I realized I was ready to blog if for no other reason than that I'm terrible at journaling and that story really should be told at my funeral.

In case you were wondering, my abs look great. Ok - I don't know. They're under 2 babies worth of fat and a lifetime worth of chocolate chips. But they are fit. I know it.