A voice boomed over the loudspeaker and bounced off the tiled walls of the South Side YMCA at 6330 S. Stony Island Ave. last week. It was the final call, absolutely the last one, for Gospel Aerobics class.
Groups splintered and bodies gravitated to the second-floor dance studio.
Folks spaced themselves apart and faced the mirrors. The teacher in a black leotard spoke into a headset. The group formed a circle and joined hands. A latecomer, bounding the stairs, arrived and bolted for the group. There was no time for Stella Bullard to remove her violet nylon warm-up.
Heads bowed and hands clasped; the group thanked the Lord for good health and asked for protection against injury. After the chorus of “Amens,” the sound system erupted and 51-year-old Bullard’s night of exercise at Fitness Extravaganza 2000 began.
The usual YMCA crowd was gone on this Saturday evening, replaced by members, volunteers and guests of the African-American Association of Fitness Professionals. The 7-year-old group of up to 100 certified teachers rented the YMCA for a fundraiser. It’s one of several events during the year where professionals take fitness and wellness to the African-American neighborhoods around Chicago.
“We’ve tried to get people to come to us,” explains Cie Armstead, executive director and co-founder of AAAFP. “But this works better.” They reach out by staging stretching sessions and walks at churches after services; participating at grade and high school fitness days; leading activity sessions at senior citizen homes and passing leaflets and networking at health fairs. Their ultimate goal is to increase the number of African-Americans who start and stay physically active.
High blood pressure is the No. 1 preventable cause of more than 65,000 deaths annually among African-Americans, according to the American Heart Association.
It develops earlier in life in blacks than in whites and is usually more severe. Regardless of being white or black, high blood pressure is a major risk factor in heart attack, stroke and kidney failure. But when compared to whites, blacks have a greater rate of fatal stroke, heart disease deaths and kidney failure.
Lower average incomes among blacks plus a lack of education and exposure to health-care professionals are reasons African-Americans are less likely to work out, according to Lawrence Sanders, president of AAAFP. In turn, that’s why there are fewer facilities available in the black communities, Sanders says. Unfortunately, he and Armstead add, preventative medicine is not universally understood, promoted or affordable for many in the African-American community, and health issues are usually taken care of in the emergency room.
To reach the evening’s intended market of 18- to 40-year-olds, the organizers combined exercise classes and demos with dancing, sales of merchandise, jewelry and cosmetics. One of the booths offered massage therapy; another, advice from a registered dietitian.
“Whatever it takes, we do it,” says Tamara Barber, a member and instructor who teaches kickboxing and salsa aerobics. “It’s up to us to get the African-American community moving.”
More than 70 people attended the four-hour event and paid $15 to shake their stuff in classes, dance, listen to one-on-one advice on weight training and have their heart rates checked.
People came for many reasons. June Lachey offered to assist Wendell Williams, her fitness instructor at The Regents Club in Hyde Park. Between dispensing fruit, the volunteer talked about retirement and how the extra time enables her to improve fitness. Motivation for the 78-year-old former school guidance counselor comes from Williams, who recently gave her the green light to start kickboxing.
Tracy Malone came to find customers for her line of makeup and beauty consultation service. If the 35-year-old businesswoman goes home with a fistful of receipts plus a little motivation to get fit, all the better. Between tending her table of creams and selling, she gawked at the fluid moves of a teacher gyrating in the Hip-Hop-Funk class.
“She makes me hurt just looking at her,” winces Malone. Those taut bodies fired her resolve. “I have all the stuff at home,” pointing to the stash of exercise mats. “I just need a kick. My husband would rather mow the lawn than come here.”
Chris Christian and fellow trainer Marzette Henderson are standing guard over the half-empty weight room. Traffic for the machines, treadmills and stationary bicycles is slow. “It’s Saturday night,” reasons Christian, 39.
“People who work out on the weekends usually do it in the morning.” Neither trainer looked worried.
“People gravitate to fitness on their own terms,” explained Henderson, 29.
Both trainers found role models from high school athletics and national sport figures, not from home. Henderson comes from a family that is “out of shape and overweight,” he says. “I don’t browbeat anyone. I can’t change my parents but I do get my nieces and nephews to be more active instead of sitting in front of the television.”
Christian’s father, a police officer now retired, led an active life. But the motivation never rubbed off on his mother. Only four years ago did the then-56-year-old housewife agree to change her sedentary ways.
The demand for five-minute massages comes more from teachers than guests. It allows Darren Brown and his brother Darrick time to chat. High school coaches during the week, the Browns, both certified massage therapists, contend that massage suffers from a bad image and lack of information, especially in the African-American community.
“People aren’t used to pampering themselves,” explains Darrick. “They don’t get the connection that massage is therapeutic, that it can help with sore joints and stiff necks. Others suspect massage. It has a bad reputation.”
In the community room on the first floor, a DJ plays tunes to invisible dancers. Couples lock eyes, seated and ignoring the vendors at the door. T-shirts with “No Sweat” are wrapped for Mother’s Day gifts. So are duffel bags. Lynette O’Neal is passing out application forms to AAAFP and leaflets of upcoming events. The throbbing music and conviviality of meeting old friends and making plans for future events is why she came.
“I need motivation to get going,” says O’Neal, not excusing her failed attempts at exercising. Her desk job at a university doesn’t burn many calories, insists the 45-year-old. “I’m tired of making resolutions every January to get healthy, but never do.” Attending more fitness events and getting into the swing will help. “At this point I don’t care about a certain swimsuit size. I’ll buy a bigger one. I just want to get and stay healthy.”
A slow but steady flow of information-seekers keeps dietitian Andrea Teverbaugh by her table on the second floor. Stacks of pamphlets from the American Heart Association on fitness walking, diet, hypertension, stroke and cancer are dwindling. “No converts yet,” she responds, “but lots of good questions.”
The profession of dietitian strikes a negative chord. “People see me and think police,” she explains. “You know, give up fried chicken forever.”
Her mantra of cutting down — not out, of skipping king-sized portions for smaller ones, and of making wiser choices extends to exercise. “I tell people just to get off that sofa during the commercials and move. Shake those arms and legs. It may look silly, but anything helps. Just don’t sit.”
Teverbaugh and Sanders come armed with statistics and medical research on illnesses such as hypertension, diabetes and coronary heart disease.
Sanders’ father became a statistic at age 49 when he died of a stroke. Sanders, then a college sophomore and athlete since high school, switched his major at Western Illinois University from marketing to exercise physiology.
Though he lives his fitness message and earns a living by it, he soft-pedals it to his family in Brooklyn,N.Y. His nickname is “Picky Larry” and when he visits, his mother makes turkey burgers for him; his brothers get beef and fried chicken.
By targeting schools and bringing the fitness message to the neighborhood, Sanders and the members intend to swell the numbers of trained fitness professionals and increase the demand for facilities in Chicago’s black community. Only through education and more exposure will the disparity in salaries for certified trainers in Chicago be adjusted. Change will come, he promises.
“What I really want to see is change along the lakefront,” says Sanders.
“Look at the bike paths south of McCormick Place. They’re empty. Compare those to the paths along North Lake Shore Drive. They’re jammed with skaters and cyclists, runners and walkers. My dream is to fix that.”
Shortly before midnight, the loudspeaker announces a raffle to be held in the community room. Stella Bullard, a towel hanging around her neck, makes an entrance in a now-limp, damp violet warm-up jacket. As she drains a bottle of carrot juice, her name is called. Friends acknowledge her win in the raffle with backslaps.
“I made it,” she yells, brandishing the white T-shirt like a flag. The veteran of the evening’s non-stop sessions in Funk, Hip-Hop, Kickboxing and Gospel and salsa aerobics announces to pals her formal return to working out.
The former fitness instructor, about 50 pounds away from her favorite size, is psyched.
“All this used to be a size 10,” she says, grabbing her mid-section. “Then, I just got lazy.”
