Tiny Dancer?

Let me just start by saying that I am not a fit person.  I do not enjoy excercise and have found numerous excuses/reasons to avoid it.  Namely:

1. I have a terribly busy and important job that leaves me too mentally exchausted to engage in any form of physical activity after work.  Truth:  Although busy, am not particularly integral to the success of the organization.  In fact, suspect organization would continue running just fine without my presence. 
   
2. Choosing a venue to perform the exercise is exceptionally complicated and after being very busy and important at my job, I simply do not have the mental energy to devote to such serious decision making.  I mean there are gyms, dance studios, pilates studios, yoga studios, recreation centres, acquatic centres, running clubs, spinning clubs, hiking clubs, biking clubs.  Need I say more?  How can one possibly narrow it down?
3.  I don't want to get too muscular.  I know this sounds silly, but I really believe that beneath my fleshy exterior, lies a physique that would qualify for entry in the Strong Man Competition.  Seriously - I have HUGE legs.  Lord knows how big they'll get if I start exercising them.  Best not to start.
4. I turn purple when I exercise and it lasts for at least an hour afterwards.  This means I cannot run to the grocery store or Walmart after the exercise, thereby severely limiting the amount of week-day evening errands I am able to perform.

As you can see, I have a number of solid reasons for not exercising.  Nevertheless, after a summer of indulgence upon indulgence, I was struck by my semi-annual desire to "get fit".  This desire usually occurs right before bathing suit season (June) and right before jeans season (September).  And so, it was with this new found dedication to exercise and fitness that I purchased shiny new runners, a 10 day membership to a "dance fitness studio" and promptly enrolled in a Cardio Dancercize class.

I must say that I was quite excited en route to my Dancercize class and had seriously contemplated wearing a Dirty Dancing inspired outfit (tights under panties, tank top, no bra and high heeled shoes), but thought this might be a bit too much for the first class.

All I can say is "thank goodness" something snapped me out of my dilluded Dancercize fantasy and I chose to wear black shorts, a ridiculously supportive sports bra, tank top and running shoes.  Although I didn't feel particulary sexy and Dancerizey, I was grateful not to have arrived in panties and high heels (as apparently I was the only one who had contemplated such an outfit).

Neither the Dancersize class, nor the participants, lived up to my expectations.  There was a larger woman who seemed intent upon maintaining physical contact with the back wall the entire class.  In addition to this odd behavior, she kept suggesting to the instructor that we dim the lights as it would prevent everyone from seeing how fat she was (after this, she laughed like crazy and began rubbing her face).  Next to enter the class was an albino woman of approximately 7 feet in height, accomopanied by her much smaller friend, who I think was deaf.  I must admit that at this point I was feeling pretty confident and began performing a series of complicated stretching exercises (so the others would appreciate that I was clearly not new to exercise).

The arrival of our instructor left me somewhat concerned.  She was a very tiny and fit little thing, who in addition to looking 1000% times better in spandex than myself, didn't require the mega supportive sports bra.  In fact, no bra AT ALL!  Nope.  Just a little tank top with spagetti straps.  I think instead of breasts, she might have just had little muscle plates.

The music begins and I am LOVING Dancercize class.  "Rythym is a Dancer" is blasting and I slide easily into my favorite fantasy of me as lead back up dancer for Madonna or Justin Timberlake.  Ahhhhhh . .  this is bliss.  I really should exercise more often.  By the end of "Rhythym is a Dancer", I feel amazing.  Heart rate is up and I have produced some sweat.  Little sip of water and I should be good for the next song.  Except . . . What? There is no break and no time for water?  Well, that seems a little strict. We are quickly moving into the next song and the instructor is bring out . . . exercise balls?  No, no, no.  What about about all the tap and slides, the jazz hands, the boot shakes?

Dancercize took a very serious nose dive from here on out.  Although I have only a spotty memory of the last 55 minutes of class, I know there was a step, an exercise ball, approximately 100 lunge kicks (during which I became completely disoriented and almost kicked the albino), and a variety of other painful exercises I was both unwilling and unable to perform.  I lost all feeling in my feet approximately 15 minutes into the class and I have not idea how long it took me to notice that my shorts had slid down, thus revealing the top portion my HUGE FAT WHITE ASS to the entire class (That's right.  All three of them).

I left Dancercize class crippled and discouraged.  As initially suspected, exercise is extremely difficult.  I was lured in by the fancy class name and visions of myself purchasing extra small panties at La Senza.  Sigh.  I am enrolled in bootcamp next week . . .