At my fitness center, I tend to lift weights, run and bike. I normally don’t attend classes hosted by trainers. During those group sessions – Tae Bo, Kenpo, Plyometrics – the trainers take it too easy on everyone. The workouts are tailored for the average, out-of-shape gym-goer who has cottage cheese thighs and a heart rate that’s never experienced more than 120 beats per minute. Let’s put it this way, your grandma could get through my gym’s Zumba class (I know a lot about Zumba because I’m always gawking at the girls from the window).
This month my gym introduced a new class to their schedule. A class that was invented by Les Mills, a retired New Zealand athlete who created an extremely successful training business. He calls it Body Combat and it’s advertised as an aggressive, martial arts-based, full-body workout. Tony Horton and Les Mills are the only internationally known trainers I ever listen to, so I decided to give it a try with my wife.
At 7:30 p.m., five minutes before the class is about to start, there were about 30 people lined up in rows waiting for the trainer. I looked around, realizing I was the only guy; figured that every girl in here, besides my wife, probably thinks I’m gay.
It was cool being the only man in a group of 30 women. Twenty of them were sexy, and 10 were forgettable, obese, food inhalers. But I was positioned in the front of the class so I couldn’t enjoy their asses from the back. Plus, the wife was right next to me and whenever I peak at anything but her own body I get the snake eyes.
Side note: The key to successfully looking at other hot women while you’re with the wife is making sure to point out good-looking men once in a while. If your wife gets the sense that you appreciate the art of the human body, including men, she will be less angry when she catches you staring at a pair of another women’s tits. The next time you’re with the wife and spot another hot woman, look for a decent-looking guy in the area and say, “Hey, look at that guy. He’s hot, right?” As your wife checks out the guy, you will have approximately three seconds to stare at the hot woman before your wife turns back and says, “Meh. He’s okay. I prefer you, baby.”
I’m confused at the situation in Les Miles’ Body Combat class. I’m the only man. For a second I thought I was in Zumba. I’m not allowed to talk to hot women while I’m with the wife, so I went up to one of the fat girls and asked her, “This is Body Combat, right?” Yes, she said.
The trainer came in three minutes late. Thank god it was a man. And from the start, Body Combat was just as advertised; an intense and worthy workout. Similarly difficult to the Plyometrics or Kenpo routine from P90x. It was so hard that a bunch of the fatties had to quit early. And because of that I wasn’t ashamed I was the only man in class.
The class finished. My entire shirt was drenched. All the students walked out of the room sweating, smiling, and excited to have gotten through such a tough routine. A bunch of other people outside the classroom were waiting to come in for the next scheduled session: yoga.
About half of the 40 or so people waiting to get into yoga were men. I looked at all of them in disgust. Not because they were gonna do yoga, but because they left me stranded in Body Combat with 30 other women. Where were these guys when I needed them? Can I even call them “men” at this point? Instead of a fighting class, they decided to do angelic stretching.
I’m all for yoga, but not if it comes in the way of a diesel workout. Anyone with a DVD player can do yoga in the comfort of their own home. But how often do you get the chance to sweat three pounds off in 45 minutes?
An ugly and unfortunate trend has embarked upon the blue states of America. Every day that passes Liberal men are giving the term ‘man’ a softer name. Today there more men practicing yoga than martial arts classes. Ass-kicking in the gym has become a feminine practice. For the first time in history, I am ashamed to be in the same category as ‘man’. I would rather be a woman; at least they know how to throw a punch.