“When do we get to wear that cute little skirt?”
Or even, “what about that bikini wax you’ve been talking about?”
But my inner thighs are not just talking, they are fussing, complaining, screaming. Making it difficult to walk, to ride my bike, forcing me even to pause and consider before climbing a flight of stairs.
All because of 45 minutes of Pounding fun and exercise.
Last week my first attempt at Pound–an exercise class where you get to hit thing with drumsticks—was foiled when the instructor had the audacity to get sick before the first class. Which only made me the more eager to try it. So I found a class at Crunch in Hollywood and there I was perhaps the only non-tattooed person in the whole crammed studio. Loud music.
It’s always fun to try something new, move fast, try to keep up, forget for a bit that you really are working as hard as you are.
But now my inner thighs are reminding me. Arms, too, are a sore, but thighs rule the day. Was it all of those lunges, or what?
It’s three days after the class now and if I shorten my stride, walking isn’t so painful. Except I look funny. It was great fun, though, using sticks to hit things, all in the name of fitness.
It was so much fun, or I’m so crazy, I’m planning to go again on Thursday.
This time I’m going to wear earplugs.