I like to work out. I really do. Despite my inherent laziness and constant complaints of "I'm tired," there is something nice about going to the gym, working up a sweat. Something...I dunno. Lofty.
I however, have been bested at the gym numerous times by an instructor I like to call, "The Dumbbell Nazi."
The Dumbbell Nazi (DN) for short, was nicknamed thus in my head after ordering us to do a move in class which, I promise, looked like a salute that would put the German army, circa 1930, to shame. The DN is a Dominican mamacita; she struts into class with an attitude and a voice that (literally) screams, "Do not mess with me. I will eat your little white butt for breakfast."
Which is a threat I don't take lightly. This woman is built like a tank and could no doubt consume me, bite by hearty bite, for breakfast. And wash it down with cold, hard fear.
This lady has the strangest ability to take my body from zero (I don't feel a thing in my abs/butt/thighs/earlobe) to 160 (Who lit my entire body on fire?) in under .5 seconds.
And, oddly, here's where the real trouble starts.
I however, have been bested at the gym numerous times by an instructor I like to call, "The Dumbbell Nazi."
The Dumbbell Nazi (DN) for short, was nicknamed thus in my head after ordering us to do a move in class which, I promise, looked like a salute that would put the German army, circa 1930, to shame. The DN is a Dominican mamacita; she struts into class with an attitude and a voice that (literally) screams, "Do not mess with me. I will eat your little white butt for breakfast."
Which is a threat I don't take lightly. This woman is built like a tank and could no doubt consume me, bite by hearty bite, for breakfast. And wash it down with cold, hard fear.
This lady has the strangest ability to take my body from zero (I don't feel a thing in my abs/butt/thighs/earlobe) to 160 (Who lit my entire body on fire?) in under .5 seconds.
And, oddly, here's where the real trouble starts.
Hyena-like.
I live in fear of the day when the DN notices. I can hear her voice, Dominican inflection and all, "You laughing, mami? You laughing? Hang on, I'll give you something you can REALLY laugh about..."
It kind of reminds me of a dance teacher I had when I was 13. Her name was Dierdre. She was the most terrifying 5'2" I had ever seen. I had just achieved toe shoe status and was building up strength in my feet. However, I had two major things working against me: 1) Weak metatarsals. It's some part of your foot (or an alien planet, I was never sure), and apparently mine was weaker than most. Normally that doesn't matter, but when you're trying to lug your entire body weight onto about three square inches of toe space, every ligament counts. Go team, go! 2) I am not a gazelle, featherweight, or otherwise malnourished/size zero. I would walk into this class a normal person, and through the hour and a half slowly be worn down into a sweaty, thirsty, desperate version of myself. As I tried not to lean my entire body weight on the barre to give my aching feet some relief, Dierdre would come up behind me and whisper in my ear, "Are you compensating for your feet by using every muscle, Dalia? Are you? Are you?"
No ma'am. And this isn't sweat dripping from every pore. I just naturally glisten.
No ma'am. And this isn't sweat dripping from every pore. I just naturally glisten.
The truth is, I came out of that class a much better dancer. Just as I have come out of every class with a difficult teacher exponentially better than when I went in: a better writer, singer, athlete, scholar (of sorts).
I learn best from those that push me. I work the hardest for people who gently shove me back against the fluff of my own assumptions, who put me in front of a mirror and force me to back up my transparency with effort and substance. I glided through most parts of school, teachers taken in by my sunny attitude and sense of humor; but the teachers that made me work so hard that my brain was falling out of my ears were the teachers I respected, and worked harder for in kind. I always have, and I always will. If they respect me enough to look me in the eye and take stock of what's actually there, then I will respect them enough not to waste their time. Or mine.
So when the DN struts into class the next time, I'll probably have to suppress my nervous giggles and hope that she lets me live. Because if she does, I might find myself bettered (or just forced to walk like a cowboy for a week afterwards).
Randomly Craving: chips, salsa, sushi, brownies
I learn best from those that push me. I work the hardest for people who gently shove me back against the fluff of my own assumptions, who put me in front of a mirror and force me to back up my transparency with effort and substance. I glided through most parts of school, teachers taken in by my sunny attitude and sense of humor; but the teachers that made me work so hard that my brain was falling out of my ears were the teachers I respected, and worked harder for in kind. I always have, and I always will. If they respect me enough to look me in the eye and take stock of what's actually there, then I will respect them enough not to waste their time. Or mine.
So when the DN struts into class the next time, I'll probably have to suppress my nervous giggles and hope that she lets me live. Because if she does, I might find myself bettered (or just forced to walk like a cowboy for a week afterwards).
Randomly Craving: chips, salsa, sushi, brownies
You're my hero, giggly dancer. Also, do they really have weight classes in ballet, and is one of them really called gazelle?
ReplyDeleteIt's like the time R took me to that sadistic class where the evil little muscular man worked us silly. And then he came over and kept making me hit him harder. It was overwhelming and I most definitely didn't giggle.
ReplyDelete