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Crucial Update

Every Thought That Goes Through Your Head During a Boutique Fitness Class

Fitness classes should, in theory, be 45 minutes of me-time. The only problem is that spending nearly an hour in a boutique studio usually ends up being less of a confidence-boosting session and more of a slow, mental breakdown that occurs while you're panting for breath and trying not to faint. These thoughts should absolutely stay deep, deep inside. So, naturally, I wrote them out here.

Driely S.

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Beginning

Every bank account's least favorite words: Late cancel.

Where's the teacher? Not here? Is she not coming? She not gonna show? She's probably not coming.

Oh, there she is. K.

I've never murdered anyone, but if you come in late and stand right in front of me, I will burn a hole in the back of your head with mere glances.

She said to grab eight pound weights, but I'm tired and I'm hungover and I haven't had coffee and I am so dehydrated and I need coconut water and it's so bright out and I don't love this "Bad Blood" remix as much as the other ones and two pounders it is.

They should have this class, but on Sunday morning and reeeeeeal slow, like for rosé hangovers!

Even this warm-up is tiring. I have no one to hate for not canceling this Classpass class but myself.

Middle

DEFCON 2: I AM CARDIO DANCING NEXT TO A MODEL. WHYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY!??!?!

There's nothing more distracting than this teacher thinking she's on the beat and isn't.

Yes! Is this the arms section?

Nope.

Hey, front row — just because you're dressed like a Lululemon ambassador and have the work ethic of a med school student doesn't mean I'm going to let you sumo squat lower than me!!!!

(Update: I am very sore, and wow, you are fit. You do you, and I'll do a little less than you.)

What are those sock/shoe thingees even called? Tone toes? Fit feet? No slip slippies?

I can only leave class once for water before they figure out I'm avoiding this side plank series. Here's my chance!

Are we at the arms section yet?!?....Oh, come on!

It's going to be so embarrassing when my obituary reads that I died at a place called Tone House.

So...I guess 28 is the age when underarm flab starts to set in! Really glad this entire room is filled with mirrors like a fun house for insecurities I paid $32 admission for.

Check out that Lulule-mom in the corner. High knees without breaking a sweat? Plank series without a problem? Thighs not shaking during squats? The barre game in me recognizes the barre game in you.

This is definitely the arms section. This is it! This is — are you serious?!

Is there a way to do uppercuts so I won't look like a baby T-rex?

NO, NOT A DANCE REMIX OF AN ‘80S SONG NOOOOOOOOOO!

Is hovering over a pile of my own sweat a badge of courage or a sign that maybe they shouldn't be using a carpeted floor?

I'm do burpees to the beat of my own drum! It just happens to be a very slow drum — like a funeral dirge.

Are we at the arms....YES IT'S ARMS. OH, THANK THE LORD IN THE HEAVENS ABOVE!

End

Two more songs. That's eight more minutes, unless it's a David Guetta remix. Then it's only six choruses, which is just six sprints, or only four if I half-ass the last ones. We're almost done!

AAAAAAA-SHAVASANA!!! To the tune of The Lion King, everyone.

Guess I'm living that "can't even make it on the leaderboard" life, what what!

So we're all just going with "ignorance is bliss" when it comes to believing these Costo wipes are doing anything to clean these foam mats, right? Okay, great, see you next week.