What's The Matter? Can't Find The Beat

There is a member at one of the clubs where I work, that by far is the most uncoordinated woman I have ever seen in my entire life. By chance that she should read this blog I will refer to her by the Indian nickname I gave her, "Flailing Leaf." She moves around the aerobics room like a sporadic piece of paper that has been caught up in a wind storm.

A while back she took a boxing class that I was co-teaching with a fellow instructor and friend. I thought that was my chance to right the ship, and cure this rhythmically-challenged and tormented soul. With patience and slow deliberate instruction I thought I would exorcise the demons from within. I was so wrong. Instead I mangled my self-esteem as an instructor, and was ready to bash my head between two weight stacks and commit myself to a mental institution. Women traditionally follow instructions much better than men, but Flailing Leaf is all man. She did absolutely nothing I asked of her. If I said right, she went left. If I said up, she went down. Well, needless to say I gave up, and now Flailing Leaf wants to be an aerobic instructor. I'm sure there is a moral to this story, but for the life of me I can't imagine what.