Low-Impact, High Pain

WHY, on August 17, 1989, did I voluntarily submit to an entire hour of low-impact aerobics?

A. Because I ran out of branches for self-flagellation;

B. Because I have always wanted to do synchronized hip thrusts in a room with 15 scantily-clad strangers; or

C. Who cares?

Actually, I entered exercise hell at the Capitol Hill Squash and Fitness Club in Washington to avoid a tremendous lightning storm outside. It was either join the "Thursday Thumpers" aerobics class once or risk spending the rest of my life in a circus sideshow as "the man who was hit by lightning and now doesn't care what you put in his mouth."

In retrospect, I should have taken the risk.

Aerobics, I learned, does not adhere to basic human rights standards established by the Geneva Convention. For 60 minutes your body is at the mercy of an instructor who 1) is not human, and 2) probably tortures stray kittens in her spare time.

My aerobics experience was so traumatizing that I cannot believe a respected educational institution such as Harvard offers "low-impact" classes. Even more mind-boggling is that these classes are filled, and some people are disappointed they cannot get a place in them.

No, no, no. Harvard students should rank low-impact aerobics on a desirability scale somewhere between dining hall food and the QRR.

AEROBICS is, first and foremost, a vain activity. You dress up like a teenager from Mars, pummel your body for an hour, and then boast to friends that you are getting "toned."

NEWSFLASH: You are not getting toned. You are getting tortured.

Aerobics begins with five or 10 minutes of "warm-up." (For those not fluent in Aerobicspeak, "warm-up" means extreme pain.)

"Bend over! Touch your toes! Good! Again! Good! Again! Yes! Fantastic!" The ever-smiling aerobics instructor, who I shall call Satan, brims with enthusiasm to the point of hysteria. If she spoke this way on the street, she would be arrested for inciting a riot.

In an effort to save time during "warm-up," I offered to cut my leg muscles with a hedgeclipper. Satan just smiled. I don't think she heard me, though. She always smiles. She is probably smiling right now.

After "warm-up," Satan turns on music that the CIA used effectively for many years to get information from captured spies. The music usually juxtaposes a verb--such as "push" or "beat"--with the word "it" and repeats this inventive combination for 10 minutes at a time.

Push what? Beat what? They never tell you.

Instead, Satan bends her knees ever so slightly to the music. One millisecond later, she shouts out instructions for maneuvers developed for 1970s martial arts movies.

Dazed, I immediately fell four beats behind the rest of the group. My main problem was that whenever Satan changed leg motions--from right kick/searing pain to left kick/searing pain, for example--my arms would drop to my sides.

And when she told us to do something different with our arms--such as "dislocate you shoulder! two! three! four!"--I would lose control over my legs and go crashing into the wall.

Towards the end of the session, I began following Satan's commands with unquestioning obedience. No longer did I evaluate each shout as an independent request, subject to numerous interpretations and scholarly debate. To stay in rhythm with the music, I had to act before thinking.

Herein lies the true danger of aerobics. Society can withstand the few injured bodies and broken souls of status-seeking aerobisizers. But what happens when instructors utilize the mental power they exert over Harvard students, particularly during the left leg kicks" Will they take over the world?

SOME say that it is better to do aerobics with an experienced friend--someone to give you courage, strength, the will to go on, blah, blah, blah.

I reject this argument categorically. It was a friend of mine--a true "Thursday Thumper"--who had initially lured me into the aerobics class. I shall call her by her real name Shelly, although I am tempted to call her Judas.

Every few minutes, Shelly felt compelled to offer some words of encouragement, in the following manner: "Keep up the good work [giggling]. Only 30 [giggling] minutes left [massive giggling]."

Shelly did wonders for my selfconfidence.

You could do aerobics with dozens of your best friends and still be too sore to go to the bathroom for days. And I'm only talking about "low-impact" aerobics. "High-impact" aerobics, as I understand it, consists primarily of slaps to the face and neck.

After my traumatic experience, you may wonder how I can still give such an unbiased assessment of aerobics.

It is called journalistic integrity. As a member of The Harvard Crimson, nothing interferes with my reporting of the facts.