Typically when the Lovely Mrs. Smith suggests a life-altering change, I'm all for it. Particularly if by life-altering she means something that doesn't really alter my life in any way. That is certainly the kind of change I can get behind. As long as getting behind it doesn't involve me, you know, actually doing anything.
I mean, I'm fine with her throwing caution to the wind and doing something wild and crazy. Like the time she quit buying the toilet paper with the puppy on it and starting buying the one with the little bears on it.
To be honest, I didn't really notice the difference. And I'd be a little concerned if anyone did.
I did, however, notice the other day when she decided we were going to do something that would change the very course of our lives. We were going to start ... exercising together.
Full disclosure here: We've done this before. In fact, while I'm not particularly proud of it, I have actually sweated along to a Richard Simmons workout tape. And Jane Fonda. And Billy Banks. And the blonde girl whose name I don't remember. Jane Austin? Probably not.
Now, none of these were my idea, but Richard, Jane, Billy and The Blonde Girl Who Isn't Jane Austin did teach me something valuable about myself that serves me well every time I consider an at-home, movement/dance-based exercise program. Namely, that I shouldn't do it.
In fairness, it's important to remember that I do run. OK, shuffle, but for the sake of this discussion we'll call it running. While we're at it, we can call Kanye West a reasoned critic much admired for his insightful takes on contemporary music. In other words, we can lie.
But if I want to engage in a little truth-telling, I can admit that the reason I run is simple. I know how to do it.
On the face of it, that seems simple enough. Left, right, left, right, and so on and so forth until you're done or you pass out. Stick in too many consecutive lefts or rights and you're either falling or dancing. I don't do either of those very well, and it's often hard to tell the difference, as anyone who has seen me dance or Jazzercise can attest.
That doesn't seem to stop my wife from suggesting that, of all yoga sessions and spinning classes at our disposal, she wants to go with something that involves rhythmic movement. More full disclosure here: I'm not any more interested in yoga or spinning, but I can't possibly look any worse doing them than a Richard Simmons tape.
One time she suggested we try Zumba. I said, cool, one of those little robot vacuum cleaners was probably a good idea. Apparently that wasn't really what she had in mind.
I mean, I start well. Which is to say, I can stand there and bring my arms up over my head. Because they all start with standing there and bringing your arms up over your head. And then, once they've got you hooked, you actually have to move. And that's where the wheels come off.
It seems that, as whomever is leading the session says, I may have the heart, will and desire to change and make a new me, one critical element of the old me just keeps on resurfacing. It's the element that indicates I have absolutely no sense of rhythm or coordination.
One minute I'm trying to follow long while someone whose name I can't possibly pronounce puts me through what he assures me will be a high-energy, super-intense workout that will leave me in a pool of sweat (and that's a good thing?), but will have me feeling the best I've ever felt (a note here: I'm pretty sure "the best I've ever felt" never involved a pool of sweat. So maybe I didn't actually feel as good as I could have. Or maybe I did.).
The next minute I'm pretty much trotting around in a circle, waving my hands in the air like the biggest 5-year-old in the world who has just decided he has to go to the bathroom. Which, I can assure you, is no pretty image.
The good thing about this is, like most things that start off being good for you but involve the aforementioned pool of sweat, we probably won't be at it long. But until then, I'll be gamely, if not artfully, having some "award-winning trainer" (they give awards for that?) prod me to "give it a little more."
And if I'm not particularly good at it, well, that's OK. I've read that one of the secrets to a happy marriage is making your partner laugh. And when she looks over and sees me trying to reach right, step left and extend something I missed in the instructions, well, my work here is done.
Gary Smith is a recovering journalist living in Rogers.
Commentary on 02/13/2015