High school gym class?! Nostalgia city, right? Everyone loved it?
I don’t have particularly fond memories of high school gym class. I took it in 9th grade, so that I wouldn’t have to take it at the big high school; our 9th grade was still held in the junior high.
So, I guess I don’t know what I was expecting when I signed up for a 12-week boot camp at the gym at work. Normally classes are free, since I’m paying about $30/month to go there. Not this one. $75, and you’d better believe I’m gonna get my money’s worth.
Enough about that, though. There are a total of 4 trainers doing this class, since it’s held a few times a day. The man that I totally have the hots for (and who complimented my deadlift form!) was only teaching one class today, so I picked it.
Y’all, guess when this class is.
That means that the sun is barely peeking its cute little head out when I’m done. The worst part is that it’s not even an exciting gym class. The trainer keeps his clothes on, and at least today, had on a long-sleeved shirt and pants. And the exercises we were doing were of the “grab this 5-lb dumbbell and perform some goofy looking action” type, when we weren’t running up and down the stairs. If I were motivated to do any of these things, I would not want to be with a group of 30-and 40-something women at the asscrack of dawn.
Having said all that, I’m totally coming back Friday. I just need to mail my dreamboat a jockstrap and a cut-and-pasted ransom note, instructing him to wear it. And only it.