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There are gyms all over Santa Fe at which you can swing a kettlebell, do squats until your butt falls off, or even watch Cake Boss while monitoring your calories burned. But if you want to join a basketball team or learn how to perfectly execute the butterfly, it may be time to go back to school—the community college, that is.
As a child, I was often unceremoniously deposited at the Railyard Performance Center on Saturday mornings, where I impatiently awaited my father and the end of African dance class. In those days, he still danced instead of drummed. Also in those days, the center was an unassuming box space with uncomfortable floors and a low ceiling, situated behind Tomasita’s in the Railyard proper.
In 1998, Angela Simmerman Sierra was in a devastating car crash. Thought dead, she was resuscitated and brought to a Colombian emergency room where, after four days, doctors decided her wounds were too severe to be mended and sent her home to die among her family.
Sometimes with fitness goals, you gotta make it personal
Last spring, my brother announced his impending Long Island nuptials, and I knew something had to be done—something radical. All my life, I’d noted events in the future and told myself I’d get in shape by the time they rolled around, and had always failed miserably.
There’s a certain type of agony only those who are liable to pass out or throw up in pursuit of their fitness goals can appreciate. There are also those of us who can appreciate being in and out of a gym in under an hour, yet totally spent.