As if walking and bouncing weren’t enough to tackle my summer excesses, I started core classes. In case you don’t know what core is all about, I can explain it to you in a single word: pain.
The teacher is a mixture of kindness and sadism, while she walks around us, all smiles towards our visible suffering. She says: “This is going to hurt. Repeat it only 30 times.” Before the tenth, we start hearing the heavy breathing and complains. The idea of the Spanish Inquisition comes to me more and more often.
She starts by saying which instruments we will need for that specific class: ropes, cushions with rubber spikes, balls of various sizes, foam rollers, mattresses and whatever she digs. Scaring, hey?
Core classes address problem areas, such as bellies, buttocks and asses. My colleagues come from very different backgrounds: one of them is so weak that she needs help to stand up; another very athletic lady talks about her boxing skills. I suppose I’ll be faithful to core during the cold season. Summer is not good for torture sessions.
Image from the internet.