We bring back the fitness craze from the 1980s.
“What the hell are you doing?”
Neil had just returned home from a long day at work. I was in the kitchen, preparing dinner. I giggled as I pranced across the kitchen. Literally.
“I’m prancercising, honey,” I stated plainly. “Isn’t it obvious?”
Last night, my editors sent me a link to a video on a new/old exercise craze called Prancercise, and my very serious journalistic assignment: “Go with this, and have a field day with it.”
Prancercise, for those unfamiliar, is a 1980s workout involving a “springy, rhythmic way of moving forward, similar to a horse’s gait.” The horse is less Seabiscuit and more My Little Pony. It also requires you to eschew moisture-wicking fabrics in favor of raiding the costume closet from the TV show Dynasty. No, really: you can see a honest-to-goodness Prancercise video here.
Because I take my craft very seriously, I dug out my Joan Collins finery, hairsprayed my bangs until they were crispy, strapped on my ankle weights, and Googled “calliope music.” And I pranced. How I pranced! I pranced until hairspray dripped into my face and you could squeeze the sweat out of my shoulder pads.
When Neil came home, I assumed he’d want to join me. After all, he’s always up for a little role playing (sorry, honey, did I share too much information?). But instead of putting on his best Blake Carrington, he muttered something under his breath and reached into the liquor cabinet, bypassing his usual glass of red wine and going straight for the bottle of bourbon we keep for company and special occasions. Prancercise is a special occasion, y’all!
“If you do it right, this is actually really hard work!” I panted as I pranced from the stove to the refrigerator. “I think this needs to become a thing. The next CrossFit.”
“You’re not going to do this in public, are you?” Neil sighed as he poured his drink.
I pranced about the kitchen, then opened the door to share the joy of prancing with our three dogs in the backyard. They barked; I neighed. Neil took a swig of bourbon straight from the bottle.
“Might as well have someone follow you clapping coconuts for the galloping sound.” He rolled his eyes.
I gasped. “That’s a great idea! Where’s my coconut bra? That would work!”
“You actually have coconuts.” Neil stated flatly. I think deep down, he was trying to find his shocked face, but after three years of living with me, it seems to have gone dormant.
“I need sound effects!”
“I am not following you around clapping coconuts, Susan.”
“Oh, come on! It’s very Monty Python.”
“Will you at least prance wi-“
This morning, I had to put my Seabiscuit legs back on for a sprightly run. I’d like to think the prancing helped me get in touch with my inner thoroughbred, side-galloping my way to happiness. Meanwhile, Neil woke up with a slight hangover. If only he had Prancercised with me last night.
I think I’ll buy him the book for his birthday.
About The Author:
Susan Lacke does 5Ks, Ironman Triathlons, and everything in between to justify her love for cupcakes (yes, she eats that many). In addition to writing for Competitor, she serves as Resident Triathlete for No Meat Athlete, a website dedicated to vegetarian endurance athletes. Susan lives and trains in Phoenix, Arizona with three animals: A labrador, a cattle dog, and a freakishly tall triathlete boyfriend. She claims to be of sound mind, though this has yet to be substantiated by a medical expert. Follow her on Twitter: @SusanLacke