Just getting to the class is a major accomplishment. Of course the first step is deciding which leotard to wear: the blue two piece that slides down at crucial times, the red one that is really too low at the top, or the yellow one that fits well, but is too old fashioned. Comfort wins out this time, so with the yellow bow on the stubby ponytail and matching yellow socks peaking out of snow white, state-of-the-art tennis shoes, I enter the cold, but brightly illuminated workout class. I naturally head for the back of the room; no one wants to be up front by the instructor and those all-seeing, mocking mirrors.

     The music begins, tantalizing our bodies and minds with its get-it-going rhythm, preparing us physically and mentally as we begin the warm up portion of the class. A few minutes into the warm up, with globes of moisture forming on my forehead and the class progressing steadily into the aerobic phase, I begin to question why I had thought the room was cold. It was close to sweltering. Five minutes more and there is no doubt—they have this room too hot! Ten more minutes and I begin to wonder what these shoes are made of; there must be concrete in some part of that perfectly constructed sole. (Why else would my legs feel so heavy?) Just when I know that I cannot possibly lift that elephantine foot of mine one more time, when just breathing is a Herculean task, when I ask myself for the zillionith time, why am I here?, only then do I hear those marvelous words: “Let's cool down.”

     Now I remember what it is that keeps me coming back—the feeling of accomplishment in knowing that once more, I have avoided becoming a “fitness fatality.”