Feel the Burn

The "Call on Me" music video and TV parodies of Richard Simmons are about the closest I've come to aerobics classes, so I was a bit nervous when I recently headed to Dillon Gym to join the "Butts and Guts" group fitness class for a day. Not really knowing what to expect, I headed over in my best pair of spandex — but sans the flashy leotard — ready for anything.

Upon arriving, it quickly became apparent that I had stumbled onto something good. Though the class was a third of the way into a typical 12-week session, several girls were anxious to enroll. As the people trickled in, I was a bit embarrassed to see that yoga pants were the cool thing to wear now — apparently no one bothered to send me the memo that spandex was passé.

Regardless, my inhibitions were quickly dispelled as an upbeat Michael Jackson remix filled the room and our lively instructor, Monet Rice, quickly got us on our feet and stretching.

Rice, whose first name was cheerfully emblazoned on the front of her tank top, led the class with clear instructions and a huge smile, occasionally walking between the files of girls and prompting us to raise our knees higher or hold a stretch for another four counts.

I should point out that my continuous reference to the class' attendees as "girls" is not quite accurate. To be fair, though there were about 40 females present, one lone male defied convention — reminding us that guys, too, can sometimes get a little soft around the midsection. Or maybe this fellow just got smart and realized where the best places to pick up chicks were. Either way, he dutifully took his place in the back of the class and did the workout with the rest of us.

One thing I was skeptical about, though, was how much of a workout this would actually be. Seriously, how many calories are you going to burn with a yoga ball that looks remarkably like a present my five-year-old cousin unwrapped for Christmas?

But in spite of my doubts, it looked like most of us were sweating intensely within 20 minutes.

The time was spent doing many of the exercises you would expect in an aerobics class: jumping jacks, crunches and an assortment of strength-training exercises. Though these exercises are generally pretty boring on their own, the atmosphere of 40 people working out to music loud enough to make the windows shake made the 50 minutes fly by.

Pride, a good motivator and the constant companion of the aerobics attendee, also lends itself to the intense atmosphere in the fitness room. Despite the intense burning sensation letting me know that I'm building up enough lactic acid to have me walking around like the Tin Man the next few days, as long as Ms. Pi Phi next to me isn't stopping for a rest, neither am I.

So even though I may be walking around campus a little more stiffly than usual today, I've learned that aerobics may actually be a legitimate form of exercise.

And Michael Jackson will always be the King of Pop, regardless of what a Santa Maria jury decides.