Alright. I’ve been incredibly spoiled by having Fee as a kickboxing instructor. She will cheer you on without patronizing you. She motivates you to push your limits without introducing moves that you struggle with. And have I ever mentioned her music? She has someone mix CD’s for her, and it’s all of this popular music mixed to have a consistent pace. So it’s not boring, but it’s got a steady beat to keep you moving.
Fee was gone last night. Our substitute instructor was named “Heidi.” Yes, I’m serious. Heidi. If that wasn’t enough, Ally’s pretty sure that her boobs were fake. They didn’t move. And for the amount of bouncing she did, they should have. It was not a good workout, and I feel like I owe it to her to tell her why. Sorry Heidi, you’re no Fee.
Last night did not go well. I think we both know it. You seem like a great instructor. You know your stuff, you’re in obnoxiously good shape, and I really like the way you did your cool down. But I just don’t think we’re right for each other, and you should know why.
Let’s start with your music. I had high hopes during the warm up. You threw out a little “Sexy and I Know It,” one of my current favorites in the ol’ rotation. But the praise ends there. I was not at a club, a house party, or smoking hookah with Bhavin at 3am after getting home from the bars. Those are the only occasions where I can enjoy the generic house-beat-dribble that you were spewing out last night (and frankly, I only tolerate it on those few occasions to begin with). The beat was also incredibly inconsistent, and you didn’t follow it most of the time. I was on dance team and in choir in high school, so I need to follow a beat. I can’t go all willy-nilly everywhere on whatever count my arm happens to jab. It’s not how I roll. Give me a beat.
You pushed us really hard during the first 15 minutes. I can’t really hold that against you–Fee told me on Tuesday that you would be kicking my ass. My ass needs it. But then you committed, in my opinion, the most unforgivable offense in the world of group fitness: In an effort to motivate us, you said “whoo.” I’m not talking a general, short, low-pitched kind of “whoo” to get the blood pumping. I’m talking about a high-pitched, 3-second, obnoxious sorority-girl-sticking-her-head-out-of-a-limo kind of “Whooooooo!” And you did it again. And again. And again. While you were bouncing. Just bouncing, back and forth, being all energetic and fit and “whoo”-like. From that point on, every time I jabbed or hooked or crossed, I was imagining your face. Sorry.
It got worse and worse. You started creating combinations that even you couldn’t keep track of. You weren’t doing things with the music, and you were completely misreading your group. I don’t know if you noticed that you were teaching at a Jewish Community Center in Northern Virginia, but Ally and I are usually the only people there under 40. Everyone around us (and including us) was panting and half-assing every move toward the end. Because not only were you doing overly-complicated combinations, but you had worn us out with so much cardio in the first 20 minutes that we didn’t have any energy to keep going. You were all leg work, very little arms or core work–do you not understand that I am on a mission to get my abs back into decent shape before the pool opens? Then you made us run around in circles, and insisted that we count off with you. I’m sorry. There was no way that was happening.
And through all of this, the whoo-ing. My God, the whoo-ing. The incessant, non-stop whoo-ing.
I’m sure there’s someone out there who’s just waiting for an instructor like you to come along and keep them motivated like a high school cheerleader with the football team. But it’s not me. Or, frankly, anyone else in that room last night. So I think it’s best if we make a clean split. We gave it a shot. Sometimes these things just don’t work out. I hope you find happiness with another class, but stay out of mine from now on.
p.s. Squats do not count as “resting.”