Things I hate about exercise classes...

So I've been taking a couple classes at the Y.  One is a kickboxing class, the other PHAAT class.  PHAAT stands for Pretty Hips, Abs, Arms, and Thighs.  Dumb name?  Yep, you bet.  But it's actually a really good class.  Think Pilates on smack.  The instructors rotate so there's always something a little different each class.  There's Kathryn, the nazi.  Seriously one of the hardest instructors I've EVER had.
Then there's Heidi, the compact drill sergeant.  The first time I saw her, I thought "she's short and plump.  How hard can this be?"  Uh...she would show us an exercise then run around the room yelling at us to pick up the pace.  She had a big smile though.  Probably because she is a narcissist.
Next would be Jill, the Barbie doll.  Think large chest, tiny waist, tiny hips.  Hate her on principle.  Good teacher though.
There are a few others but I don't remember them quite as well.  So in all my classes, here's what I hate.

•  When class starts, I like to look around and see who's less "physically inclined" than me.  Sadly, there are days I'm the worst, and that includes the old blue hairs.
• Occasionally Frequently I find myself doing the exact opposite of the teacher.  Face the left wall?  Nope, I'm facing the right and looking like a fool until I figure it out.  Last week it was a good 3 minutes until I realized I was seeing everyone's faces when I should have been seeing their butts.  I'm smart.
• I refuse to be the one lagging behind.  So I will just about kill myself to keep up.  Luckily, since I'm getting more in shape, this isn't so hard.  Still, there are days I just want to sit down!  
• Sometimes the instructor will look in the mirror at everyone then mention something not to do.  Inevitably the last person she looked at was me.  
• The instructors don't seem to remember that not all of us have A cup boobs.  For those who have nursed 2 babies and are carrying around some extra weight, our boobs flop around.  Think of a fish out of water, flopping around on the ground.  Sad and a tad disgusting yet, like a bad accident, impossible to look away.  I'm sure I've scared some of these poor high school girls with my post-nursing knockers.  Maybe I'll scare them into keeping their legs closed until they're good and ready for the consequences to the boobage. 

Even though there are many things I hate about the classes, it's still fun to go.  And at least I can make fun of myself.  Isn't that the goal in life?  Well, maybe just mine.