Mildly out of breath, I take my place on the back row in exercise class among a couple dozen health seekers. The first four words should give you a clue as to why I joined.
As with most exercise rooms, it’s lined with mirrors so you can suck in your stomach from several angles. This comes in handy if the 20-year-olds decide to drop in to watch old people perspire at such bicep-burners as “the candy bar curl.” I’m still sore from that one.