ADRIFT IN A SEA OF SPANDEX

My wife is on a mission. She’s made it her passion to try and keep me healthy. She does it because she loves me and because she is not looking forward to changing my diapers in the nursing home. She thinks I can exercise myself to health. She doesn’t know it, but I gave up on that long ago. I’ve tried most forms of exercise, but sitting on the front porch seems to fit my style. Although I’m not much of a rocker – rocking chairs make me motion sick – I do like a nice soft chair, preferably underneath the ceiling fan and not too far from the cooler. I have porch sitting down to a fine art. Many times I’ve thought I might like physical exercise better if I could suffer with friends…the misery loves company theory. I think there is a fortune to be made out there with “men only” exercise classes. I’m convinced that men do not want to be in public exercise with women and vice versa. I know this from personal experience. Once, my wife asked me to join her at “Jazzercise” class. She really enjoys the routine of regular exercise and she sincerely thought I would benefit from the class. I made my usual protests. I pled fatigue and every other malady in the book, but I finally relented with one final caveat: I wanted her to assure me that this “Jazzercise” was a coed activity and that there would be plenty of other out-of-shape middle-aged men there to share my misery. After some half-hearted assurances, I donned my gym clothes and headed out with her for what would turn out to be one of the longest hours of my life. We arrived on time at the “Dunk ‘n Dine” Baptist church. As I anxiously scoped out the crowd I was met with a sea of black spandex covering some very large territory. While I didn’t see any males, I saw plenty of plus size ladies who would obviously benefit from the workout. I secretly wondered if they might be serving donuts, given the girth of many of the participants. And so as I reluctantly started walking toward the church hall, every cellulitic cell within sight distance turned to look in my direction. I might as well have been naked on a pogo stick. In a rush of panic I turned to head back to the car but Elise grabbed me before I could run. Not wanting to make a scene, I relented and followed my wife like a lamb to the slaughter, hoping against hope that I could secure a back row spot in the men’s section. Inside, there was a whole lotta jiggling going on, and they hadn’t even started the music. There was also a fair share of giggling as I, the sole male in the room, looked for the non-existent men’s row. My brothers had stood me up! On top of the lack of male participants, the leaders of the class were covering up pictures with towels– fast and furious! On closer examination, the pictures they were covering were of Jesus. I’m not sure if a picture of Jesus watching them jiggle and squirm was thought to be too inhibiting or if the good Baptists thought that Jazzercise was just a bit too close akin to dancing. In either case, I figured that if it wasn’t good enough for Jesus to watch, it wasn’t something I wanted any part of, either. I decided right then and there that I had to make good my escape. In the meantime I went along with the program as best I could. Apparently, these ladies already knew the routine. It was sort of a dance and stretch to music. Not bad if you can do it, but I have a hard enough time with basic shag steps. I certainly was not prepared to dance to music I had never heard before with women I had never met, while rolling on the floor. I played along, but as the crowd was, once again, lowering themselves to the floor to do a maneuver (I believe they called it the Jelly Roll) I headed for the door. It was my first opportunity – my wife’s back was turned and I sought shelter behind some of the weightier participants. I felt like a sniper trying to avoid enemy sniper fire. With a roll to the right and a flip to the left, I was able to make good my escape. Elvis had left the building…never to return. I don’t need that kind of embarrassment just to buy a couple of more months at the end of my life. I want to feel and look good, but probably not enough to do much about it. As a matter of fact, I should devise a program of escaping from ladies’ exercise programs as a form of exercise. I got a pretty good workout and was thoroughly exhausted. Back at the ranch as I sat by the pool – tan flab always looks better than white flab – I reflected on just how hard those ladies were working to get healthy and slender…and just how hard it was for me to be there with them and, even harder, to escape the Sea of Spandex and the Valley of the Jelly Roll. Published in the Americus Times Recorder March 22, 2009