A day as a Hermanite

So I go to a local gym here and take this class run by this uber fitness guru Herman - it's like you walk in and everyone has there spot - front row is the real deal loyalist crowd - if you can't see Herman you focus on them - middle group are devotees and come 3-4 days a week. 

Then you see me usually in a back row and corner so I can see myself in a mirror but far back enough I don't make people loose their rhythm. It's the type of class that if you had a few drinks you can dance through it more coordinated but since it's 9.45 in the morning you depend on your own agility. This class is like cardio with a boxing twist and has such a loyal following. People swear by this class and I'm doing my best not to look silly especially since I spot a pregnant woman in the front kicking ass more than myself- as we are squatting I'm thinking to myself her baby can probably do the workout better than me and I imagine the Ally McBeal dancing baby appear. Ok so I'm doing my best and working up a sweat to the point my leggings are going higher and higher up my back - it's a weird sensation so I look at myself in the mirror and have that #epicfail moment - my leggings are backwards - oh yes it was a moment but what can you do. I just kept punching the air like I was mad it. 

The class doesn't start on time and runs over too so I kept looking at the clock - praying I wouldn't collapse - wishing it would just be time to stretch. I keep jumping, punching, making unusual ab movements - I start thinking - I'm Persian - I need to represent - I must be