Today’s lesson: never underestimate the Jazzercise Grannies.
With Phoenix already pushing into the mid-90s, the dust hanging in the air, and not a breath of wind to be found, I made the executive decision to drive to Starbucks and drive to Jazzercise.
Sometimes the smartest fitness choice is adapting to the conditions instead of trying to prove something to yourself.
After grabbing my coffee and egg bites (which had enough time to cool to a non-mouth-burning temperature), I headed into class for Jazzercise #3.
The result?
I got my butt kicked.
According to Fitbit, the 45-minute class burned 378 calories, averaged 137 bpm, and kept me in the vigorous heart rate zone for 34 minutes. Apparently, I reached vigorous intensity within two minutes and stayed there most of the class. Fitbit was very impressed.
Jazzercise Receipts
My arms, shoulders, glutes, and thighs would like to file a formal complaint.
The funny thing is that the women in this class make everything look easy. They’re smiling, chatting, and moving through routines they’ve probably known for years while I’m over here wondering if my legs still work. I’ve come to the conclusion that if anyone is foolish enough to steal an old lady’s purse in the vicinity of a Jazzercise studio, they are making a terrible life decision. Those ladies are tougher than they look.
One of my favorite observations is that several of the women have unofficially adopted a young special-needs boy who sometimes walks past the studio during therapy sessions. If he goes by the window, they’ll stop what they’re doing, run outside to say hello, then come right back in and continue the workout. It’s one of those small community moments that makes me smile.
The instructor, Robin, also shared that an older gentleman in her neighborhood has called her “Vicky” for so many years that she practically answers to it now. As someone whose grandmother called me “Cindy” most of my childhood despite knowing perfectly well my name was Christy, I completely understood.
After class I was officially a human Slip ‘N Slide. Sweat was dripping off my face, my traffic-cone earrings were hanging on for dear life, and I was questioning every life choice that led me to vigorous cardio on five hours of sleep.
Fitbit Coach was feeling especially cheeky and informed me that I had survived “the sun, the cats, and the grandmothers.” Honestly, that’s a pretty accurate summary.
The biggest surprise wasn’t the workout itself. It was how quickly my heart rate recovered afterward.
Months of Starbucks walks, carrying cat litter, hauling cat food, housework, pinball tournaments, and everyday movement have apparently built more fitness than I give myself credit for.
Fitbit keeps insisting this is because of “dumbbell sessions.” I maintain that hauling 35-pound bags of cat litter is far more useful than lifting something that literally has the word “dumb” in its name.
When I got home, the cats were unimpressed. Monkey supervised.
Willow demanded attention.
The household management team conducted a full inspection.
Business as usual.
Final verdict on Jazzercise #3:
Still counts.
Even when it’s hot.
Even when you’re tired.
Even when the Grannies are trying to turn your glutes into jelly.
Show up. Do what you can. Adapt to the conditions.
And maybe keep a towel handy.
Still counts.
Did you enjoy my Jazzercise adventure? Read more.