Back to working out and having fun-- with just us gals!

I re-joined Curves last week in an effort to get all healthy-like. My new club is quite nice. It boasts a stretching machine, which my old club had tried in vain to win during a citywide food drive, and two stair stepper stations that measure your heart rate. Yesterday I got up to 166 beats per minute, which corresponds on our heart rate poster to 85 percent. Percent of what, I don't know; but that's a solid "B."

Though I appreciate being in fancy surroundings, I miss sweatin' with my favorite oldie*: my ma. I used to go nuts on the recovery stations (platforms interspersed between the machines where you're supposed to do cardio), flailing my limbs instead of jogging half-heartedly in place (like most of the ladies do) in an effort to get her to crack a smile. I'm left with doing my little hops and sporadic cheerleader arms.

I have yet to encounter a Curves-inspired diorama, but the music at my new athletic home has been a bit on the odd side. On Saturday it was cracked-out Broadway show tunes put to a techno beat. Yesterday it was Hits from the Late Nineties. "Smooth Criminal" from Alien Ant Farm was on there, as were a number of J.Lo hits. Then they played a song with the following lyrics:

"So come on, shorty
If you think you can roll
With an iced-out playa
Ballin' outta control"

I'm sure the sexa- and septuagenarians populating the place really enjoyed that one.


*Just kidding, Ma. You're not old. It was just a really great opportunity for a "jeu des mots," as they say.