Hello there, friend!
I may have mentioned that my favorite decade is the 70s. It was my coming-of-age era. My second fave is the 60s. I came into this world in 1960.
Today, however, I’m taking you back to the 80s.
Ahhh, the 80s. Shoulder pads and big hair. Cabbage Patch kids and MTV. Footloose and Dirty Dancing. “Nobody puts Baby in a corner.” Those were wise words to live by back then. But perhaps my favorite thing to come out of the 80s (besides my firstborn child) was—
—Aerobics.
I. Lived. For. Aerobics.
It actually started when I was still in college. One of my housemates was a Jazzercise gal, and she had us shaking what the good Lord gave us in our living room. I love to dance, and exercise that feels like dancing is AOK with me! But something happened a few years later that changed my “step-kick” life.
A hot pink leotard, that’s what.
I was a sight in this get-up. I mean, when I say “hot pink,” I mean somewhere between fuchsia and magenta. It’s possible I may have made some people’s eyes bleed by looking at it. It came with a pair of tights and a short-sleeved leotard top. I wish I had a picture, but I don’t.
Any good aerobicizer knows you need a skinny elastic belt to go on the leotard, so I got a white one. (Why did we wear those? They served no purpose whatsoever.) But wait, there’s more. I wore white with pink trim high-top Reebok sneakers with this ensemble. But if you remember this era, you know what else I needed, right?
Leg warmers.
Oh yes, I had to have the leg warmers that went over the tights. (Again, why did we wear these? They served no purpose whatsoever.) Mine were white to complement the white belt and help tone down the magenta. We’re almost done. Let’s not forget the final accouterments.
The sweatband and the wristbands.
OK, I didn’t have the wristbands. I mean, I had some boundaries. And I don’t think I had an actual sweatband, but I did that “roll up a bandana” thing and tied it around my head. Mind you, I had massive hair at the time because it was in style then, so that bandana got lost in all that hair. Lord, have high-volume mercy.
At that time, Kevin and I lived in suburban Minneapolis and belonged to a YMCA. We didn’t have kids then, so we frequently went to the Y in the evenings to work out. The closest thing they offered to Jazzercise was an aerobics class called “Fitness Fantasia.” I had my fuchsia leotarded body at that class three times a week!
As we entered the large room where this class was held, we had to tell our names to the instructor, and she checked us off the list. I suppose there was a charge for the class, or being a Y member, perhaps I got in for free. I noticed after several classes that a particular name on the roster had no check marks beside it. A certain “Jeanie Lipinski.” My mind set to work.
There was a young married couple down the hall from us in our apartment building—the same age as Kevin and me, with no kids. We became fast friends. This gal was named Sue. I told Sue she should come to class with me and give the name Jeanie Lipinski and she’d get into class scot-free. (I know, I know. I’ve been through all this with God by now, and He has set me straight on my deceptive behavior.)
Off the two of us went to aerobics, me in my magenta and Sue in her . . . who knows? My memory is only big enough for my outrageous outfit. Down the hall we walked to the aerobics room. There was the instructor, clipboard in hand. I went first.
“Patti Thomas.” A little check mark was made by my name next to the corresponding date. Time for Sue to pull off the Great Aerobic Caper of 1983.
“Jeanie Lipinski.”
“Oh, welcome, Jeanie! Glad you could finally join us!” our encouraging instructor replied.
We did it. We actually did it a bunch of times. We danced our way to better health time and time again. I bet if you put on the song “Sweet Dreams Were Made of These” right now, I could take you through every grapevine step and every reach-to-the-side.
And then, one day, a little voice spoke to me. Let’s be clear, sometimes that little voice is coming from the devil himself—he’s no doubt the one who told me to tell my friend to pose as Jeanie Lipinski—but sometimes it’s actually God’s voice telling me the right thing to do. That voice broke through one day, and I was convicted of my fraudulent practices.
“What if Jeanie Lipinski shows up someday when you’ve already checked in?” I nervously asked Sue. Her eyes got big. “Or what if she asks for her money back because she couldn’t make it to any of the classes? And then they check the attendance and say, ‘Why, Ms. Lipinski, it shows here that you’ve attended several classes.’?” Sue’s eyes got bigger.
“I’m not going back!” Sue cried out in guilt and horror!
From that time on, I went to aerobics sans Sue.
The moral of this story? If you ever think you’re all that and a bag of chips because you’re wearing a hot pink, skin-tight leotard with legwarmers, take heed! It may give you a swelled head and cause you to go down a dark path of deceit!
Actually—there is no moral to this story. I just hope it has given you something to smile about, thinking how ridiculous I looked in 1983 in a class called Fitness Fantasia.
Next week I’m headed to California! I’m going to visit my daughter, Maria, and her family. I haven’t been out there since they moved there last summer. I’ll take the week off, so I’ll write again on January 31.
Take good care!
Written with love (wearing a toned down color scheme) – – – Patti XOXO
If you made the hair on this woman twice as big, the outfit twice as pink
(and, excuse me, where are your leg warmers, Missy?)
you’d be looking at me in 1983.