You may have noticed in my posts about going to the dreaded gym that I had not attended a kickboxing class. And kickboxing is kind of a staple of every group class lineup.
OK, I was afraid.
And it seemed weird because that’s what Eddie teaches at Club SCAD. I’m not about to take one of his classes, for reasons that are probably obvious to married couples.
That all changed Tuesday when the kickboxing groupies at the Y sort of swept me into that class after the “Awesome Abs” class. I rationalized it as a good way to continue lowering my cholesterol. (The doctor said my elevated cholesterol could be genetics, or might not be. That’s doctor-speak for “Put down the bacon, Woman.”)
I lasted 30 minutes in the class. There was a lot of kicking and pseudo-boxing, naturally, and some jumping jacks, which equaled uncomfortable jiggling.
That could be me in the green, checking to make sure the leg's not broken.
The moves were easier to pick up than Zumba, so I think I might grow to like it.
I’ll just wear a better bra.
Observe and report 
I think the girl in the green T pulled a groin muscle!
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Probably. It’s likely in that class.
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TMI?
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Perhaps. That’s how I roll.
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