The class plonked in front of you day-in-day-out are as individual as the people frequenting them. Some days members are like disciples, others they are like herding cats. You never know what you are going to get which is one-part invigorating one-part death of a thousand cuts. In my experience, the classes I’ve taught can pretty much be summed up under 3-categories:
The Lady Gaga
Named for their po-po-po-poker face, this class is giving you nothing. Nada. Bagel. Zero. Naught. You’re coming up with killer one-liners, cues straight outta NZ and are role modelling like a mo-fo. Still a donut. Maybe they internalise their feelings? Maybe it’s 6am? Maybe you’ll turn up next time in a meat-dress to get some reaction.
They are lapping you up. They are woo-hooing, the atmosphere is rid-ic-ulous and is giving you goosebumps. They are hanging on every word you say and even though you are teaching the highest intensity high intensity track known to man-kind, your lung capacity seems to triple. It’s one of those classes members spontaneously applaud at the end of each track and you are walking on air. And you’re getting paid for this? Best.
You have tried every strategy in the book to get this ONE member’s attention in order to correct them. The subtle approach of directing a cue to everyone. The slightly more direct approach of looking straight at them with a cue. The now I am telling you forsaking all others goddamn it listen to the words I’m saying to you before you kill yourself approach. Nothing. And now they are just giving you the shits because they have all your attention and hopefully in the meantime no-one is dead in the class.
This article originally appeared here and is republished with permission