Sweating balls of fury

To say I was a bit ticked off by the fitness instructor (lady) at the gym who tried to sell me the wonders of yoga, is to put it mildly. You may wonder, what's the big deal? Or even, why let her get to you? After all she is perhaps only just trying to persuade you to become one of her clients for the 9:30 am class? And, yoga apparently does wonders.

Yes, I understand, but unknowingly she struck a sensitive cord. The one where persons subscribe to specific ideas or every single fad denoting what it means exactly to be healthy, in good shape etc ...mostly without even taking into consideration, 'you'. Yes, who you are and what routine works best, given you. There I was, after a hour of weights and cardio combined, feeling good about myself. I am doing what works best for me.

First, she interrupted me when I was in the zone, practically giving me a fright as the music in my earbuds were so loud, I didn't even notice she was standing next to me until I turned. My first thought was she wanted something on or near the machine I was using (hmm she could have waited was my first thought), so I asked, "yes, what do you want?" She broke into her sales pitch routine by asking, where I am from, replying to my answer with a "X? I thought you were Y. You sound Y. You don't sound like people from X. I've been to X quite a few time ..." If you knew me well, you would have know you just hit my royal pissed off meter. I waited her her to state her business. Finally she did the whole spiel on yoga and the her class, with the first one being free. If you knew me, you would have spot the polite dismissal in my, "Thank you. Thank you for the offer." I got back to my routine and finally finished what I came to do, got dressed to head out.

Stopping to say hi to the wonderful specimen they tend to place within eye reach - the one with whom I had a recent evaluation and was contemplating designing a program to fit 'me' - I was typing my laces when madame interrupter chanced by again. She was in time to hear the tail end of my conversation with Mr. Good Looking, something about stretches.

If you knew me, you would know you have just committed a cardinal sin. Yes, I was not talking with you, I did not invite you into my conversation ...yes, why are you talking? She went into her spiel about how that is why she was telling me about joining her yoga class. She used to be a body builder and she realised how inflexible she was as she got older, blah blah blah. If you knew me, you would have recognised the exasperation I tried to steel within my expression.

If you knew me, you would have recognised how at the end of my rope I was, given how I could not look you in the eye. If you knew me, you would have seen the flaming balls of fury I was struggling to contain.