I attended the aquatic class at the gym tonight. It’s free with our membership and it’s something I’ve kind of wanted to do for awhile, but haven’t because, “I’m working.” I have a list, sort of, of things like that.
So, hear ye, hear ye, on Tuesday and Thursday evenings at our gym, there is an hour long aquatic exercise class. I know about these classes because when I swim laps at the gym, we lap swimmers aren’t allowed in the pool at that time. The reason I was interested in trying the class is because the few times I showed up before the class was over, I waited beside the pool watching them, and I was impressed by the stretching exercises the instructor was presenting.
Stretching before and after swimming is something I really need to be more diligent about doing.
Ummm, here’s the thing. I thought I was in shape. I mean, I know I’m in shape. I can swim laps, with different stroke types, for over an hour and barely even get winded. My arms are defined, lung capacity expanded, blah blah blah.
But tonight? Tonight, I am sore. Not “I just hiked Half Dome in a day!” kind of sore, that is the holy grail of being sore for me, but I’m sore enough to notice. Huh. *shakes head*
I know, from overheard conversations, that a few of the attendees have had surgery or are recovering from injuries and are there are doctor’s orders. But, really, why they all don’t have the physique of Greek gods or goddesses is beyond me.
Anyway, my sore muscles hereby promise that we will never diss that class again. Ever.
In fact, I might go back.