You Want Fame? Well Fame Costs
And right here's where I started paying.
I am stunned that there wasn't an audition to get in the door of my gym. My gym being Gold's Gym on Cole, in Hollywood. I am actually sort of mad that they didn't audition me because frankly, I am not coordinated enough to belong there and feel kind of nerdy every time I walk through the door of the place. That's not necessarily an emotion you want your gym to inspire or something you voluntarily pay 60 bucks a month for: raw geeky inadequacy. I get enough of that in my own apartment.
After joining and hanging around a few days, I realized I had most likely joined the wrong establishment. That this gym wasn't somewhere I was going to thrive as a human. From the caliber of kick-ball-changing talent I witnesseed in the dance classes and the level of difficulty in those classes, you'd think the entire Gold population was vying for a coveted role in A Chorus Line.
It is a gym like no other, resembling nothing on the planet earth. First of all there are about a hundred dance classes a week and there are no novice gymsters to be found anywhere. It's like a race of really skinny, choreographically superior aliens dropped out of the sky and took over the building--complete with leg warmers, warn Capezios, and camo pants.
The most popular dance class takes place three times a week and is called FIRE. F.I.R.E. is an acronym for Feel, Imagine, Rejoice, Express. I share with you a description from my Gold's Gym dance class schedule:
"This revolutionary dance class will change the way you Feel, Imagine, Rejoice, and Express yourself. FIRE is a cardio based class that moves to the rhythms of Jazz and Latin dance techniques. Irene's motivational skills, energy and passion for dance is contagious. Release stress, gain confidence, and sex appeal in this magnetic class full of drama, sizzle and spice."
I made the mistake of attempting to FIRE once. Before I realized FIRE was a volcanic and scorching land where no freaks or geeks with two left feet are tolerated. I've got to tell you. It was the first time I've been afraid that a gay guy was literally going to kick my ass. One thing you don't want to do is get in a gay dancer's way. Especially if he's pirouetting frantically in the mirror in a headband.
Seeing that I can't dance, I sort of stood in the back toughing it out while rationalizing that I could pretend to dance. Who the hell would notice?
Until I realized there are so many people in FIRE that the routines are done in waves. After Irene teaches the entire class the steps squashed together elbow to elbow, the students fall into groups and perform the routine as the other dancers stand on the sides of the room watching. So even if you hide in the back, you eventually, become the front.
I realized this alarming point as I struggled with all of my being to remember what Irene had told me to do. I told the devil himself that he could take my soul if he would let me walk through this FIRE without making a complete tard of myself.
The Devil wasn't interested.
When my group was up and we were suddenly performing for an audience, I did not want to Feel, Imagine, Rejoice or Express. I wanted to Stop, Drop, Roll and Forget I had ever been born. It was the most stressful, humiliating subsexual moment of my life--full of neither sizzle nor spice.
What ever happened to old fashioned aerobics? I was kinda good at that. I had that grapevine move, DOWN, you know?
I am stunned that there wasn't an audition to get in the door of my gym. My gym being Gold's Gym on Cole, in Hollywood. I am actually sort of mad that they didn't audition me because frankly, I am not coordinated enough to belong there and feel kind of nerdy every time I walk through the door of the place. That's not necessarily an emotion you want your gym to inspire or something you voluntarily pay 60 bucks a month for: raw geeky inadequacy. I get enough of that in my own apartment.
After joining and hanging around a few days, I realized I had most likely joined the wrong establishment. That this gym wasn't somewhere I was going to thrive as a human. From the caliber of kick-ball-changing talent I witnesseed in the dance classes and the level of difficulty in those classes, you'd think the entire Gold population was vying for a coveted role in A Chorus Line.
It is a gym like no other, resembling nothing on the planet earth. First of all there are about a hundred dance classes a week and there are no novice gymsters to be found anywhere. It's like a race of really skinny, choreographically superior aliens dropped out of the sky and took over the building--complete with leg warmers, warn Capezios, and camo pants.
The most popular dance class takes place three times a week and is called FIRE. F.I.R.E. is an acronym for Feel, Imagine, Rejoice, Express. I share with you a description from my Gold's Gym dance class schedule:
"This revolutionary dance class will change the way you Feel, Imagine, Rejoice, and Express yourself. FIRE is a cardio based class that moves to the rhythms of Jazz and Latin dance techniques. Irene's motivational skills, energy and passion for dance is contagious. Release stress, gain confidence, and sex appeal in this magnetic class full of drama, sizzle and spice."
I made the mistake of attempting to FIRE once. Before I realized FIRE was a volcanic and scorching land where no freaks or geeks with two left feet are tolerated. I've got to tell you. It was the first time I've been afraid that a gay guy was literally going to kick my ass. One thing you don't want to do is get in a gay dancer's way. Especially if he's pirouetting frantically in the mirror in a headband.
Seeing that I can't dance, I sort of stood in the back toughing it out while rationalizing that I could pretend to dance. Who the hell would notice?
Until I realized there are so many people in FIRE that the routines are done in waves. After Irene teaches the entire class the steps squashed together elbow to elbow, the students fall into groups and perform the routine as the other dancers stand on the sides of the room watching. So even if you hide in the back, you eventually, become the front.
I realized this alarming point as I struggled with all of my being to remember what Irene had told me to do. I told the devil himself that he could take my soul if he would let me walk through this FIRE without making a complete tard of myself.
The Devil wasn't interested.
When my group was up and we were suddenly performing for an audience, I did not want to Feel, Imagine, Rejoice or Express. I wanted to Stop, Drop, Roll and Forget I had ever been born. It was the most stressful, humiliating subsexual moment of my life--full of neither sizzle nor spice.
What ever happened to old fashioned aerobics? I was kinda good at that. I had that grapevine move, DOWN, you know?
posted by Tara Callahan at 9:38 PM
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