Whaddup fancy face!
Let me start by saying how awesome it is to know that you’re all as awkward as me! I thought my last post was going to make me look strange(er than usual), but then everyone was like ‘Omg bitch, same!’, so now I feel less weird about finding hiding places to work out in, in the gym lol. I have a holiday off of work this week and will be attempting the weights room…and all of its horrors *cough* men *cough*.
Two weeks ago my betch, Delia-Rene (Vexy, for my SDTV heads), hit me up to go to a fitness rave. Yes heaux, a whole rave for fitness! She’s embarked on her own fitness journey and previously attended DJ Melody Kane’s, ‘No Kane, No Gain’ (that's her comparison review). After watching it back on her Snapchat I thought, ‘Rah, that’s actually a dope idea’, so when she presented ‘The Night Shift’ to me I was totally up for it…plus early bird tickets were £5, and heaux, until we upgrade from this pre-rich bank account, frugal is life.
The Night Shift’s tagline was, ‘Don’t get drunk, get pumped!’ If you’ve been following me for a while, you’ll know that getting drunk is one of my favourite pastimes…(as is getting pumped…*wink*), so it didn’t light a fire under me right away. Honestly, I kept wondering how much more fun it would be to work out whilst drunk. I tried working out whilst high once, but a side effect of weed is cotton mouth. I was too thirsty to continue so I ended up eating snacks and watching the rest of my Zumba DVD from the comfort of the sofa. T’was a productive day.
Back to the fitness rave.
If you follow me on Snapchat, you already know I go to the gym looking ruff and tuff like carpet fluff (though since the hot new guy has started working in my gym I’ve made an effort to do my hair, and by do my hair I mean secure my wig) but this was a RAVE, which (in Scotty-land) means that extraness was allowed, so I swapped my mash up house clothes for some mesh panel leggings, a fitted top, boxer braids and my regular dick appointment makeup (5 minute makeup for when you wanna make an effort for bae, but not really).
The event was held in the Camden Centre. There was stage with a DJ playing some big tunes, two male trainers and a room full of women of all shapes, sizes and ethnicities, patiently waiting for the inevitable torture to begin, underneath a domed ceiling with a chandelier/disco ball thing and colourful strobe lights.
The smoke machine billowed cooling smoke across the stage, and all I could think was…what about us? Bitch, it was HOT! There wasn’t a lick of air conditioning in there, just two dibby-dibby windows opened wide enough to do ABSOLUTELY NOTHING FOR ANYBODY, a fan near the front that might as well have been switched off because made no fucking difference, and a bag of bitches with body heat. But I was excited same way, fancy faces. I couldn’t wait to lose this weight in my very first fitness rave.
After doing our obligatory snapping so that Snapchat could see how extra healthy (and generally extra we are), the class began. We placed ourselves towards the back -in the middle so that we’d be less noticeable in the sea of bodies when we skipped the exercises we didn’t want to do, and to make escape easier. These were regular occurrences.
We began with boxercise to soca music. I’m a soca head so I was HERE for it. It’s hard to get tired or fed up when soca music is on (not that it stopped the tiredness altogether, but it helped). It was like carnival…but not anywhere near as fun. Fun is easily annihilated when you start asking people to do burpees…or any kind of floor work, and bitch, there was floor work galore! Now, I can’t really complain because more time when they asked us to do shit we wasn’t finna do, it either meant that it was time for a fake water break, an option #2 (which is a nice way of saying ‘it looks like that hard ass move you want me to do is working these particular muscles, so I’mma find a lazy ass way to work them without doing what the fuck you told me to do’), or straight up giving each other the ‘seasoned friendship look’ (you know the look, the one that is like you saying 'bitchhhh' without saying it) and not doing it.
At the start, when we didn’t want to do something at all, there were half-assed attempts to make it look like we were trying, just so the trainers wouldn’t notice that much. An example of said attempt was being instructed to do press ups, but instead of actually moving, you just lie on the ground with your hands in position and wait for everyone else to finish so you can reserve the energy you don’t have for the next move.
Stop judging me.
In my defence, for every exercise I did not attempt, I made up for it but dancing inappropriately to the music because carnival is coming and I need to start flexin my ultimate inner heaux. I’m making this sound really bad, like we went there and didn’t do shit lol. We did, I promise lol. By the end of it we were sweating and tired as fuck.
There was a half an hour break before the next section (body conditioning to trap and grime music) began. I’m generally not a huge fan of this kind of music, but even I can admit that it’s actually decent to work out to. It’s mad hype, so in turn, you also get hype. Everything was going well, and by well I mean that there was even more fucking floor work, which I was damn tired of by that point and stopped even trying to make it look like I was attempting it. You know them ones where the trainer walks by and you’re so over it that when they yell out ‘Keep going’ in a general direction (but you know it’s meant for you), you just look them in the face like ‘fight me’?
Two-twos (I’m showing my age…also, why was this ever slang?), one of the girls that was lying on the floor with me while everyone else did push ups earlier, decided to up her viva and attempt the excessive floor work. Next thing you know, the bitch is screaming down the building, laying on the round with a bunch of people around her coz she done fucked around and fucked up her knee. Things were swiftly put on pause as the ambulance was called.
At that point I wondered what any normal person would in that situation… “Does this mean we can go home now?”
Stop judging me.
Bitch, don’t nobody need to work out for 3 mu’uh fuckin’ hours. It is too much. Plus, I was starving. Some (just me, by myself) may even say that I was wasting away to practically nothing!
Naturally, I tried to get Delia’s determined ass to agree to leave, but she was like, “I spent £5 for this shit, bitch. We are staying.” Inside I died a thousand hangry (hungry/angry) deaths, but a part of me was proud and inspired that she was willing to push through and challenge (kill) herself (us), that tenacious slut bucket.
Shit like this is why having a support system on your weight loss journey is very helpful, because when you wanna give up, there’s always someone nuff enough to force you to keep going.
I’ll admit, her can-do attitude rubbed off on me as the night (regrettably) continued. We were instructed to stand away from the injured girl still lying on the floor (much care, so sensitive), and they moved onto the 90s R&B section to do abs. As we kicked our legs up in the air and squatted down low, I yelled at my friend, with absolutely no shame ‘DO IT FOR THE DICK, BITCH!’ Sometimes you just need to think of how much better in bed exercise will make you. I know this sounds like a joke, but it’s not –penis is part of my motivation, heaux! I’m tryna do some skinny bitch ‘pick me up and fuck me mid-air without your legs shaking’ kinda shit.
I’m struggling in these skreetz so my legs can go all the way back without my stomach doubling up and pressing the air out of my lungs. I’m putting in work with this squat life so I can do 30-day squat challenge on the dick for more than three (two) minutes (seconds) before reverting to that grinding shit we like doing so much.
All in all, it was fine but literally the whole night just felt like the same moves done over and over again to different music. We definitely got a workout but I feel like the next time they do it they should get a female trainer as well. I’ve noticed that male and female trainers train you slightly differently. Men are more focused on strengthening/sculpting whereas women will mix it up with a bit more cardio.
I think part of my disappointment with the event was that I hoped for a different atmosphere, something more light-hearted and fun since it was meant to be a fitness RAVE. I pictured lots of whooping, cheering and upbeat encouragement like I experience in my Zumba class. This felt quite serious. The fun for me only really came at the end when we the DJ flung on Candy by Cameo and sped it up.
I wish that they’d provided yoga mats or at least informed us to bring our own because the floor we were doing all of that godforsaken floor work on was polished and hard as shit to stay stable on. I get very sweaty palms when I get hot, so doing press ups and all that was a myth because I kept slipping and sliding. Also, on the flyer we were promised fresh food and smoothies…we got neither. Instead they were charging £1 for a bottle of water that you could buy for 55p from the corner shop.
Also, this has nothing to do with exercise; more a marketing opportunity missed out on in the name of seriousness, but the instructors were tall, well-formed black men in a room full of women…why did no one take their shirt off, plis?
I think that if I did ever decide to do one of these again, it would probably be aerobics or something. I can do Serious Sally in the gym. If I go to fitness rave, I want fun. I know some of you are probably like, 'Heaux, that’s not the point of it,' and you’d be right, fun is not the point, but bitch, when you are not a gym bunny/fitness freak, fun helps.
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Until next time, fancy face
Love Scotty x