One Step at a Time

The girls and I took the plunge and joined the local fitness center. They did it out of excitement. I did it more as an option to practice my Arabic and perhaps a slim chance of well..slimming. 

A young woman wearing a tarha (headscarf) greeted me at the front desk with a smile and handshake. She escorted me to a cafe area and gestured for me to sit. She pulled out a thick book and began to write. Then she handed me the pen and told me to write my name, address and sign at the bottom. I looked at the contract and noticed that the front was in English but the rest was in Arabic. I paused for a moment thinking about what could be in the contract and wondered if I should sign.

She looked at me wondering why I was waiting. I looked back and then looked down at the contract. I shrugged and signed. If getting ripped off by a fitness center is the worst thing that happens to me in the travel extravaganza then I'll count myself extremely blessed.

She took the document, added some more writing of her own and tore off copies for me. She ran our credit card and handed the receipt to me to sign. Well, it's a done deal. I've now signed up for 10 months of exercise bliss. Come on endorphins.

I put the paperwork in my jacket pocket and made my way to the aerobics room. My friend from ILI was already setting up getting ready for Josipa's (yo-SEE-puh) Cardio Class of Death. I greeted her and pulled out some mats and steps. Emileigh came in after running on the treadmill to "warm up." Either I run on the treadmill or I do aerobics. There's no such thing as both--yet (or maybe ever).

A few others arrived. One guy came in wearing all muscles, no neck and barely fit through the doorway. A little round guy grabbed a step and added 4 additional snap-ons for his. It was now 2 feet tall. I looked at Josipa and she said, "I tried to tell him that's too tall, but he's crazy." 

I secured a very low-to-the-ground one, prepared my space and looked around the room. I saw two women on the side so I marched right up to them and in my best Arabic said, "Hi, my name is Pam. How are you? What is your name? Nice to meet you. I am studying Arabic here in Cairo. My Arabic is (insert a gesture of a hand sticking straight out with the thumb and pinky alternating up and down)." 

They responded with names that I can't reproduce. I smiled and hoped the conversation would continue, but it didn't. I guess I should be glad because the other Arabic vocabulary that I remembered had nothing to do with exercise or new friends or anything.

We all took our places and got ready for the class to begin. "Guy With Tall Step" was in the back. I had to keep my eye line clear because I couldn't wait to see how he was going to manage that step with this teacher. Bwa ha ha ha. (Sorry. That's a bit cruel, but when you're out of shape you'll do anything to distract yourself from your own pitifulness.)

The music was cranked and we were off and running...literally. We leaped and stepped and did a Broadway move over to the other side. I actually have decent rhythm. I can do all the moves and keep up. That is until my heart and lungs find out and begin to rebel. The class is a reserved group with none of the characteristic "whoops" and "You can do it!s" in the air. Josipa continued in her happy, positive, non-gasping direction and encouraged us to a new fitness level.

10 minutes into the class I looked over at "Guy With Tall Step." He was making one step for every 5 the rest of the class was making. Finally he looked around and disappeared out the door. A couple other guys were doing their best to keep up with the aerobics moves, but frankly they were highly uncoordinated. I'm not saying it's a girl's thing, but maybe...

She announced that our warm up was over and now the real cardio work would kick in. I stepped up, down, side to side and was singing along with the "Numa Numa" song. Another guy walked in and took his place in the class. He had more coordination than his counterparts so I was beginning to think there was hope for the male aerobic species.

35 minutes into the class and I was now officially done. No, Josipa hadn't dismissed us, but my flaming red face and burning lungs gave me my cue to exit gracefully before a stretcher was necessary. I waved at my very fit daughters and told them I'd be out in the hallway cooling down.

I thought at that moment that I should review my contract. I should have had it written in that although the fitness center does have air conditioning that it should be required to actually turn it on regardless of the weather outside when 40-something American women walk through the door. Of course, the lady who helped me with the contract had on a turtleneck and sweater during this blustery, chilly day of 80 degrees. I was doomed.

I peered into the class and just observed while my heart rate slowed to an actual beat instead of a timpani player on Red Bull. They were now sideways on the floor with one arm extended pushing the body up. The other arm reaching up toward the ceiling. I think I saw this move once in one of the "Rocky" movies. I had never attempted it myself and now I had missed my chance, but I wasn't too sad about it.

They finished with a wildly, painful version of a doubletime Charleston. The only sounds I heard from the class was one man who groaned, "No way!" when she announced 5 more of whatever new contortion movement she was instructing them to do.

She dismissed the class with a word of encouragement and a round of applause. I clapped, too. While I've never been thrilled with exercise, I was happy that doors are opening up. It seems that once our friend leaves at the end of the month, they won't have anyone to take her place as an aerobics instructor. There is a possibility that... (Okay...pause...did you think for a second that I was going to be the replacement?!) Emileigh and Aria might lead the class.

Who could imagine that at such an age they'd be given such a wonderful opportunity? I suppose that also means that I'll have to go for moral support. I should go regardless. I wonder if they need someone to direct the Sauna Station?