Ode to that curly-haired exercise fiend

Last Monday, for family home evening, our ward made an improbable attempt at succeeding in improv comedy for a version of Whose Line is it Anyway? For those wondering whether or not improv comedy is harder than seasoned actors make it look, it is. Having participated in such activities in previous wards, I wholeheartedly believe that their success is dependent on unconditional support for the amateur improv-ians. The operative word here being unconditional, meaning laughing and cheering even when they are not funny. Which, as it turns out, is most of the time.
But I learned something about myself while picking myself up by the proverbial bootstraps and getting onstage. I was part of the game Party Quirks, wherein three members of the team are given a secret “quirk”. The fourth member of the team acts as the party host and must analyze the others’ behavior to determine their particular quirk. My quirk consisted of 2 words: Richard Simmons. Meaning no disrespect to Mr. Simmons, I knew I would have to capitalize on the quirkiest features he possesses in order for our host to correctly identify my quirk. I have exercised along to nary an aerobics video, but thanks to one Young Women’s activity focusing on our physical development for the benefit of our “individual worth”, I had actually participated in a night of Sweatin’ to the Oldies Part 2 where we gathered in the Young Women’s room in our shorts and t-shirts and aerobicized and mocked our jolly host.
Mustering the memory of that Tuesday night long ago, I summoned the courage to enthusiastically jump and bounce on stage to the rhythm of unheard oldies shouting such encouragement as, “And one! And two! That’s right! Doesn’t that feel gooooooooood?!” At my attempt to engage in over the top Richard Simmons-ness, I found the permagrin was not entirely fake, but rather I enjoyed jumping about on stage doing leglifts, then arm circles, and back to leg lifts once again. I could almost feel the curly hair bouncing off my head as sweat glistened across my forehead.
I had been concerned I would feel self-conscious and misrepresent my quirk such that my host would be unable to identify my antics. Turns out, all that was necessary was releasing the Richard Simmons within, and he did the rest.