So the other weekend while visiting Ray's dad, we couldn't make it to see Ray's mom (the nursing home was on quarantine lockdown because someone had the flu — not swine, not like it really matters, all flu is bad for the compromised), so we went mountain biking. I had a hard time keeping up, in part because we were shooting straight uphill and in part because I had worked out for about two hours the previous day.
I would say I was in recovery mode, but Ray saw it differently. He thought I was getting my butt kicked because I don't work out hard enough with Zumba and whatever else it is I am doing at the Y. "I don't think you're keeping your heart rate elevated for a long enough time," he said, as my eyesight went purple and red with rage and disbelief.
True, Zumba does not have a consistent across-the-board high heartrate inducing situation happening. There is a warm-up and a cool-down and fast songs interspersed with slightly slower ones for about 35 minutes before the floor work starts, which lasts about 25 minutes and rounds out the hour. The amount your body works is pretty much dependent on A) knowing and following the steps and B) Pushing yourself on the faster workouts to kick your knees higher, bounce a little more and generally be as inefficient as possible. Why do you think aerobics instructors scream out, "SQUEEZE THOSE TUMMY MUSCLES!!!" all the time? They want you to think you're shrinking your abs, sure, but they also want people to push themselves a little harder. A tough workout — it is possible to get.
What Ray does is, however, incredibly consistent. It is so completely consistent that sometimes I wonder that he isn't overtrained in some muscles. To wit: Ray has the most jacked-up treadmill, set at an incline that could train an Everest climber. He gets on it about three or four times a week and walks for 30 mins at top speed (about 3 mph) and then takes 2.5 mins to "cool down," which does not seem significantly slower to me, then does some pushups and sit ups, always the same sort. Now, Ray is the best hiller on bike or foot that you have ever seen. He marched up Mt. Elinor like it was flat pavement. He bikes up hills that I'm walking up. He is like the Terminator or something on grueling hikes.
So I challenged Ray to come to Zumba with me. Now, Ray knew that Zumba is the kind of environment that may drain a man of all his masculinity for 30 minutes or so, but he bravely tagged along to a Saturday morning lesson, which was only sparsely attended. He had a hard time keeping up. I'm not saying he was floundering like a bottom feeder or anything, but Zumba is not as obvious as walking, after all. But he was very game and I was very proud of him. Also, one of the creepy hillbilly-type people that stare in the Zumba classroom from the house out back was out on the porch staring in. Ray got the full experience.
At the end, he thought his legs might be kind of sore from the floorwork — "Just the hamstrings though" — which was his concession to me that Zumba may have benefits. He has not changed his assessment of the inconsistency of the heartrate, however. Of course, Ray is all about the consistency.
In spite of his refusal to truly accept Zumba as a legitimate form of exercise, he did make me a really nice dinner Saturday night.
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