Catching Air

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My husband is great (dear, you must have known I would blog about this...)

Last night I convinced him to attend one of the exercise classes with me at our gym.

"Are there men in the class, or just women?", he asked.

I didn't lie to him.  I told him there was generally a token male or two, but the other 15 attendees would be chicks.

He was reluctant, but he went. 

I showed him how to set-up his step.  I showed him where to pick up his barbell and weights.  I saw him scan the room and breathe a sigh of relief as the other 2 men walked through the glass door.  He was at ease.

And then it started.  The techno beats filled the air, and sweat started pouring.  Within minutes I was getting tired, and I could see him in the large mirrors reflection giving me the look of death.  He wanted to punch me in the shin- which was an indicator that he was feelin' the burn, too.

I was so proud of him during that class.  I could see the many times he wanted to stop or slow down, and then Cynthia- good ol' Cynthia- the instructor, would prance by and yell her commands- and it was then he knew what I meant when I said she was a little on the scary side.

The best part of the class?  The beginning step routines and the ending leap-step-right-left movements that looked more like a modern dance class routine than an aerobics class- And watching him in that reflection look so confused and trying to keep with the rhthym.  Despite being a musician, "the rhythm is gonna' getchu" isn't quite the song I would use to describe him in that class.  But he tried.  His arms wildly swinging in the wrong direction at the wrong time.... it was adorable. 


Lloyd's first exercise class.  I got to be the gal that convinced him to go.  Is he mad at me? 

Not tonight.  Tonight he is feeling that euphoria that you get after an awesome workout.

Tomorrow's stiff joints might be a different story.

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