I know it was delusional of me to think that I could get a quick cardio workout before the PiYo class last night. (D'ya think whoever named PiYo also named TiVo?)
First the traffic was thick (there's a reason I generally don't drive at that hour), then the gym was obviously packed: The parking garage had a traffic jam in which I idled for the entire length of "Bullet the Blue Sky" (every radio station in Denver has been on a U2 kick lately, mosty from War and Unforgettable Fire, which makes me happy). So I parked way the hell over there and skedaddled in through a gap that looked like nowhere I should be after dark, or wanted to be at any time at all. When I got in, mentally glowering at everyone who walks slower than I (everyone), every locker was occupied (so I vultured over a woman who was leaving, and as I waited, someone else asked if she could use it), and the line for the cardio stuff was 20 people long.
I asked at the desk about a sign-up sheet for the PiYo class, and the clerk said there wasn't one but he would pass the idea along. I reminded him that a sign-up sheet is a piece of paper and he could easily get one out of the drawer. (I saw the sheets when I asked to sign up for a 5:30 step class one evening.) Blank stare. So I went along to ask someone else with a little more brain. A manager explained that they had sign-ups for equipment classes, like step and core, because they have only so many pieces. I understood that, I told him, but if you have 35 steps but a studio room big enough only for 28 stepping people, 28 should be the limit on the waiting list. But that's not what I'm asking about, I reminded him. He said that sign-up sheets were a corporate matter, and by this time he was taking steps toward me in that way that makes some people back up (and also me back up when I don't expect it). Not yet intimidated, I asked why corporate policy superseded common sense. "That's just the way it is."
Great. Apparently I'm going to a gym governed by my mother's logic.
Anyway, the class was good. Crowded. Swan-diving down as if my torso had any chance of meeting my legs, I noticed my belly, pooching over the waist of my "yoga" pants. These are new, hence the lower waist that doesn't cover the flab. Twisting into eagle pose (do eagles twist their wings one around the other, or their legs?), I had two problems: the balancing itself, and the bulk of my leg getting in the way of its bendiness. I am bendier than my fat allows.