The Day I Tried a HIIT Cardio Class

Reflecting on the Truths our Bodies Can Tell our Soul

“Hi! I’m Angie. Welcome!” the instructor said as I came into the crisp, contemporary workout space.

“So, this is a HIIT class… high intensity interval training.”

“Oh yes, of course,” I quickly replied, wanting to project the confidence of someone who knew something about exercise. When I read the class description online, I assumed we would be doing a mix of push-ups, sit-ups, and burpees - challenging for sure, but I also had a good familiarity with them.

“And,” she added deliberately, perhaps intuiting the online class description left a lot of room for interpretation.

“This is basically a lot of car…dio moves.”

My stomach tensed as I noted the way she deliberately slowed on the word ‘cardio.’ I wondered suddenly if “cardio” was code for Jazzercise, dance, or perhaps generally solid coordination.

It was.

Code for all three.

This welcoming instructor whose long “A’s” hailed from unassuming Wisconsin immediately turned into an energized fury of flexible cardio/dance moves who fully expected those in attendance to let every last ounce of Dua Lipa’s “Levitating” flow through their own coordinated kicks, timed-air punches, and rhythm-ed hips.

“Grapevine!”

It was a word that literally meant nothing to me in this context until the rest of the class nearly trucked me while they kept step with the horizontal move.

“Double time!”

My legs and arms felt mired in cement as I tried to keep up with the sudden locomotion of arms and legs around me.

It would be difficult to overstate the profound level of incompetence I felt. The music kept pumping, and my body had no ability to show forth any sort of accompanying coordination.

We finished class with my shirt and shorts soaking, my breath panting, and an odd tightness coming over every muscle which had spent far too much time trying and far too little time just letting go.

“Bobby, great job! I wouldn’t have known it was your first time.”

This is the go-to compliment for a first-timer in any endeavor. True, I know she meant it, but seriously…

At the same time, I heard these words fall out of my panting mouth in reply, “Well…thanks. That was really humbling. I have no coordination…but, honestly, it was a lot of fun.”

Fun!?

Did I really say that? Think that? Endorphins getting the best of me for a brief, unguarded moment?

But no. True enough, I confess “cardio” class was oddly invigorating.

And I think it’s because it let my body embrace that which is constantly true in all of life: we are ever-trying to move our lives with the music - and we are ever-humbled before the task.

Because the music is always playing, right?

“When I think of God, I hear a song,” writes Rob Bell.

The Creative, Redeeming, Sustaining Life-Force of this universe - as a song.

“The song is playing all around us all the time,” he continues. “The song is playing everywhere. It’s written on our hearts.”

Is our body in step with the music? Are the motions of our lives in in sync with the symphony of Goodness, Justice, and Love playing forth around us? Would our dance moves exhibit the kind of grace that make clear that such Music carries us?

Truth is, a lot of the time our hands and hearts can get stuck in cement. Other times we don’t know how to keep up (or slow down) with the rhythm. Still other times our movements can be so calculated and forced that we make a mockery of the Song itself.

But sometimes…

Sometimes there are these precious moments where we finally do let go.

We stop trying to control…
…the narrative
…the situation
…the person

And we let our bodies fall into the Song like a body learning that it can stop flailing and just float on water.

And strangely enough, what we find is that the music can carry the limbs. All those tired muscles need not keep trying to figure out how to keep up and work harder. The most fundamental thing to finding the rhythm is letting go.

And in that limberness - receive.
Move.
Dance, even?

Cardio - code word for heart-mind-body-and-soul fully alive to the Music.

—

“I think I’ll be back next week,” I told Angie on my way out.

Indeed, I signed up for another class. I decided my body could use a little more truth-telling once-a-week, and maybe some of it will rub off on my soul, too.