Day 16 - Dancing Blend

Equniox - South Beach

At the advice of yet another friend who insisted I try a popular workout, I found myself at the treny, tony Equinox Fitness in South Beach. Aka home gym to every single person who lives between South Pointe and about 41st street. Whatever you picture that gym looking like, this was it.

Today's class was something called Mitana, which the instructor described as "LIie a hip-hop dance boot camp." I wish, I WISH there had been anything even closely resembling hip hop dance during boot camp. I think during Mess Week we got to turn on the radio a couple of time,s and dude bopped around to Timberland for like, five seconds, before he got absolutely thrashed in the sand pit outside. So, that's about my association with Hip Hop Dance Boot Camp. But more on that later.

Before class I was chatting with my friend about this month of classes and she was listing off all the ones she goes to (I ran into her my first day of Butt and Legs at Barry's).

"I worked it out," she said, "and I think I spend about $450 a month on gym memberships and class fees." Amazing. It's really is true that fitness, especially on this level, has become a luxury item up there with cold press juices and LuLu Lemon pants. At least for women.

Like, guys, we can just hit a stack of rusty weights, a shitty hotel gym, or just run around a lot and we stay looking pretty good. I don't know any dude, aside from elite athletes who have personal trainers, who spend $450 a month on gym memberships. It's unbelievable. Add that with the cost of getting your hair cut and women's clothes, and I'm starting to get why they always expect us to pay for dinner. Looking good for them is just fucking expensive.

About 5 minutes before class my friend got up from our table by the Equinox juice bar.

"We regulars, we go hover before class," she said. "I need to get my space up front. If I don't get my space, I'm fucked for the whole class. The regulars are all super OCD about it."

This is girl speak for territorialism, I think.  But sure eonugh, we walked up to the outside of the classroom, where a class was still going on, and there were probably a dozen or so ladies stading there, waiting to get the good spot when we got in.  Once the room opened, they all rushed to get spots in the front, near the mirrors. Because South Beach.

The back, where  I planned to spend the entire class, was entirely empty save for me, the 3 other guys in the class (couldn't confirm any of them were straight) and some older ladies who probably didn't give two shits about getting a spot in the front row.

And then our instructor, Andres walked in. He looked, I shit you not, like the spitting image of a guy named Blend who works at Thrillist. And I thought, for a split second, Thrillist was fucking with me and bringing him in to teach the class. Then he opened his mouth and said soemthing along the lines of "I"m the dirtiest motherfucker in here. SO don't be afraid to get down and dirty and nasty in this class, this is a no judgment zone and I wanna see you get dirty."

I think he was gay. I don't think a straight guy could get away with saying shit like that.

And then the class started. The entire thing was like Britney Spears video choreography, fast and sharp and hard as hell. Not as dirty as Vixen, and not as fast as Zumba. It was more like NBA dancer routines, which everyone in the class seemed to know already. So I've learned these classes are a lot like line dancing, just more expensive and there's no alcohol..

What was funny, of course, was watchign this guy who looks like blend jump and prance and drink and twerk and do all the shit one does in a Mitnaa class. And every motion in this class is HUGE, there's nothing subles. So when we went to do a spanking motion or a star jump, boy you saw it. And if you know Blend, image him doing all this. I almost stopped and lauged a few times.

I did notice I'm getting a little better at loosening up my shoulders during dance classes. I'm not sure if that's a good thing. And during one of the last songs Dancing Blend told all the guys to come up in the front row, and we literally did a dance where everyone kind of grinded on each other. I mean, there was no actual contact, but it did look like a big, yoga-pantsed orgy if you looked at it the wrong way. He kept us up there for one song, and as much as I thought I'd dread it, it was actually kinda fun. I didn't embarrass myself too bad, and the class was, like the other dance classes, about on par with doing an hour-long jog.

After class my friend and I took a few pictures (none of which she thought she looked cute enough in to post) and I chatted with some of the people from the class. The sub culture of this class was interesting, since there were definite regulars who knew each other, and had territory for spots. Not something I'd noticed elsewhere. Maybe it's just a South Beach thing.

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