Tonight I took a Boot Camp Class. We sweated it out military style with agonizing sets of things like bicep curls, squats, lungues, and knee raises. The music throughout the class was pretty consistently pop-workout stuff, like remixes of Justin Timberlake’s “Sexy Back” and Brianna Feat. Flo Rida’s “Boom Shacka Lacka”. (I admit it – hip hop is growing on me as a result of all these group fitness classes I’m taking. I guess I’m a natural born rump shaka!)
No big surprises there, right? We’re all used to that type of music in a fitness environment. The surprise comes at the end. I’ve taken two other classes with this teacher, and while her in-class music is spot on, the cool-down music is… creative. Like “Paint with the colors of the wind” creative. I’m not kidding. We had just finished 50-minutes of pure, heart-pounding cardio, huffing and puffing and dripping sweat like savage women warrior beasts. And then… freakin’ Pocahontas.
Have you ever heard the wolf cry to the blue corn moon? Not in a freakin’ body blast class, I haven’t. The first two times that this happened, I thought that the teacher was just in an Uber Disney mood or had forgotten her CDs at home, but tonight, as we cooled down from an exhilirating workout filled with musical medleys of popular hip hop and top 40s, she busted out the Romeo and Juliet soundtrack. This song, in particular.
Now I’m sorry – but when my endorphins are swirling around like magic mushroom hallucinations, I don’t want to hear downer breakup music. Especially PIANO SONGS that make me want to relive my first break-up and scarf a pint of Chunky Monkey. When that song ended and “A Whole New World” from Aladdin came on, I took a ride on my own magic carpet (ie my crazy brain) into a whole new world of immature 14-year-old me, delighted at the ridiculousness of the situation. I started giggling, and soon, I had a full-fledged laugh attack, thinking of my sister and her propensity for bad, cheesy music. In high school on our way home from school, she used to drive around and around in the cul-de-sac with me in the car, playing horrible Toni Braxton or Gloria Estefan songs over and over, singing so loudly that I would beg her to let me out. The tiny white Toyota Tercel would turn into a little spinning dreidel of awful music, her roaring with laughter, me roaring in agony at the pollution in my ears. Ah, memories.
I eventually had to feign coughing to get out of the class without distracting the teacher, where I went into the locker room, still snickering, my face red from a lethal mix of heart-rate targeting and laughter. I like this teacher and her class, but I might have to do a cool-down on my own, because working out with Pumba, Jasmine and Pocahontas just isn’t really my style.
When it comes to music for exercise- can music make it or break it for you, too?