It was quite overwhelming being welcomed back into my aerobics class when I went for the first time after returning from Switzerland. At first when I walked into the class and saw the familiar faces enter the room one by one it was almost as if I’d never left. But the surprise and delight as they registered I was back was really heart-warming, even while it was somewhat overwhelming. They even remembered my old spot and made space for me to slot right back in.
Let me explain – this is a very special aerobics class with what I think must be the most special teacher in the world. Stephanie has enriched and extended the lives and well-being of women (mainly) for around 30 years and I often think it’s purely for the love of it. What she earns from it would barely cover her costs after you factor in the birthday and Christmas treats and driving to collect members of the class who can no longer drive or just need some extra care temporarily.
Most of the women in the class have been attending for 10
years, and many for significantly more. The oldest class member started when
Stephanie started teaching and still comes once a week though she can no longer
make the journey from the retirement village on her own.
On Saturdays, we go for coffee after class (to the same
coffee shop we’ve been going to for the last 10 years or more) and it’s
probably as much the tie that binds our small community as our determination to
keep on keeping on with exercise.
That first time back, I had very mixed feelings. I did not
feel like the same person that left. I’d
grown used to a very different style of teaching. I’d forgotten some of the old
steps. I’d become harder of hearing - I could not understand why Stephanie kept
on calling out her own name – later I discovered she was saying “step knee”. I
was digging in to what had become familiar to me and I resented the change. The
class and teacher I’d so loved and missed so much while in Switzerland suddenly
grated and seemed stuck in the past while I had gone on to greater things. Why
on earth did they still think their way was best when I had experienced so much
more?
There was the small matter of expertise – I hated the fact
that I could not always keep up and sometimes bumped into the others or just couldn’t
get the step pattern. I’d learned a new way and the old had been relegated to
the back of the memory cupboard.
Could it be that I saw myself as changed by all the experiences
I’d had in the five years and my unspoken assumption was that everyone else had
remained the same?
The first and most challenging thing was to confront the
situation and tell them my old spot was no longer right for me. I needed to
stand where I could clearly see and follow the steps of the teacher. I’m a visual
person and living in a place where the class was in a language I wasn’t
familiar with, meant I learned by copying exactly what I saw the teacher do. It seemed to me - and possibly to some of them
- that I was being otherwise and spurning their welcome and concern to make me
feel one of them again.
It took me a 10-week term to get back into the old routine
and start to feel as though I had never really left even though the coffee shop
owners welcomed me back like the prodigal. And though the head waiter has
changed, the new one is already a good buddy. While I could go back and visit
my Swiss class and probably muddle through much more effectively that when I
first joined, I’d probably not enjoy it that much even if there were to be a
warm welcome from one or two of the regulars.
But just when you think your life is all back where it was
before you left for your great OE, along comes the next challenge. We’ve moved
a long way out of the city, and getting to and from a class twice a week that’s
25 kilometres away when I could go to a local activity seems both a luxury and irrational.
I tried a Jazzercise class here and know I don’t want that kind of exercise
even though there are all sorts of rational arguments in its favour. I keep
saying to myself if I lived in the country as I once thought I’d like to in
retirement, I would most likely have to drive 35-45 minutes each way to
exercise classes of any kind anyway.
So it all boils down to motivation. Do I really exercise
because I know I need to or do I go to the class because it’s my regular habit? And which is the factor that’s the real
driver in continuing to send me on this irrational, twice-a-week journey. I’d
love to say it’s quite simply the people – my teacher and co-dancers. And in
truth I might still travel that distance at least once a week for the mateship
after class on Saturday because I‘m a member of that tribe and no
matter how far or how wide I roam, they’re still part of what I call “home”.
The reality is the mix
suits me perfectly – good music, variety, the right amount of challenge, brainwork
to accompany the footwork, good teacher, good people in the class and that
special friend, familiarity. Familiarity
that breeds content. Well at least that is until contempt
takes over again. For every theory there is an equal and opposite theory.
Actually, I suspect the real motivation is “because I can”.
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