I slink behind a pillar. Warm-ups turn out to be a cinch. I'm not even breathing hard after a string of little boxer jabs and karate mini-kicks to rap music rhythms. Then come the push-ups. Never in my life, beginning in Miss Hetler's seventh grade PE class, have I, on trembling Olive Oyl arms, been able to raise my body off the floor.
Today is no exception.
My new macho friends levitate up and down like recent boot camp graduates. The rap music heats up. Master Wheaton, a 30-year veteran of Korean martial arts, and his fitness fanatic followers punch left, then right, slide, kick, pivot, turn. I hop on the wrong foot, launch a girlie jab, and giggle nervously. A half hour later I'm getting into it.