Page 6 of All Twerk, No Play

“Tell Eric Senior his child support payments bounced … extending his streak to 100%, bravo!” Laughter forced two pairs to break their squats and grab their water bottles.

“Also there are ladies present so let’s keep explicit jokes to a minimum.” The women, many of whom had dirtier mouths than the sailors, cackled at my attempt to protect their modesty.

“Two pairs left,” I circled the final competitors like a nineties wrestling announcer. “Who’s gonna win the championship belt? Rodriguez and Pike?” A third of the students cheered as my hand hovered over their heads. “Or Kate and Grace?” The rest went wild. “Anybody ready to surrender?”

“No sir!” The guys yelled.

“Hell no,” Kate said. “Grace can carry me home piggyback.”

“What makes you think I’ll be able to stand?” Grace laughed. "Good thing I work at the hospital, I might need ice."

I laughed at her attempt to sound hardcore, imagining her complaining to an ER nurse about muscle pain. As a social worker with a heart of gold, she’d probably leave that conversation with an ice pack and a promise from the nurse to volunteer at the animal shelter or something noble.

“Alright, this is the breaking point: Your legs are shaking, your abs are hurting, your lungs are pumping, and you want to give up.” The truth shone on their faces, sweat trickling down their necks. “But this isn’t about losing weight or getting a six-pack. It’s about committing instead of quitting.”

“Or in Kate’s case,” Grace tattled, “to have her fiancé drooling when she walks down that aisle.”

“Not just him, I'm equal opportunity,” Kate scowled. “Everybody can ogle this ass, including my exes.”

“Operation: Bubble Butt in full effect. Working out might be about self-love … but if you prefer spite and jealousy as motivation, I’m here for it,” I said with a clapback on the last three words. The extra encouragement pushed her to drop the squat lower without warning Grace, throwing off their balance and allowing the bros to win. “Let’s finish strong with 30 burpees!”

The group groaned in unison, but as I dropped to the ground to lead the final exercise, they begrudgingly joined in. Halfway through, my phone alarm went off in my pocket, a reminder set by my sister Adriana to take a selfie after every class for my social media. Sweat dripped into my eyes as I finished the last burpees, turned off the alarm, and rallied the crew into what Adri had hashtagged #SweatySelfies.

I stretched my arm high—it was getting harder to get the whole crew in the photo as more students joined—and shot it to my sister, who texted back almost immediately.

Adriana

why can’t u take a decent selfie, old man?

get kate to take it, ur hopeless

and shave that awful beard

I tossed the unlocked phone to Kate, who snapped candids as I gave the final pep talk: “You may hate me today, but you’ll love me tomorrow. Actually, you’ll hate me more tomorrow, because delayed onset muscle soreness is a bitch.” The regulars sighed because I said this to wrap up every class. “But next week, next month, next year? Future you will be proud you were here today.”

I grabbed my foot to stretch my quad for the cooldown. “And hey, if you’re free tonight for Thirsty Thursday, I’m sitting in for a happy hour set with Your Local Phantom at Donnelly’s.”

Kate rolled her eyes and asked Grace, “Wanna go to the show tonight?”

“Can’t tonight, Alex has foster parent training so I’m on Ruby’s bedtime duty,” Grace answered. Her face lit up when she talked about mundane tasks for her foster daughter like daycare dropoff and ballet classes.

Most of the students dropped their resistance bands at my feet, either thanking or cursing me, sometimes both in the same breath, and I replied with big smiles and encouraging shoulder pats.

A small group lingered to shoot the shit as I loaded the bands into my backpack. Grace asked, “So how do you decide what music to pl—?”

Kate slapped a palm over her friend’s mouth. “What did I tell you was the first rule of coming to a Cruz Control boot camp class?”

Grace’s voice was muffled beneath Kate’s gloved hands. “Don’t ask about the music.”

“We’ve all made that rookie mistake,” Rodriguez reassured her. “My first class, I asked why he was playing ZZ Top. Got a whole backstory about how they got their first gigs by impersonating The Zombies.”

“They were so good people thought they were the real band,” I said.

“He once talked for twenty minutes about Led Zeppelin album titles."

"Most people think the fourth album is IV, but it's actually untitled," I said. Kate tapped the Led Zeppelin symbols she'd designed into the tattoo on my forearm.

“And last month Cruz went all in on Tina Turner,” Pike complained.

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