I have a newfound affinity for the White Building.

I have always considered myself a far cry from the independent workout fanatic; I am more of an organized sports kind of girl. I always needed someone or something else to motivate me.

Then I discovered the wonders that are fitness classes.

Yes, I always knew they were there physically, but I never really pictured myself fitting into that atmosphere. I was torn between a fear of them being too difficult, and a dread that maybe they would be too easy and full of Olivia Newton-John "Let's Get Physical" wannabes.

But, because I found myself getting winded after only one late-to-class sprint, I put my preconceived workout notions aside and made myself a schedule: The 40-minute Full Body Workout on Monday, Wednesday and Friday, and the 20-minute Washboard Abs on Tuesday and Thursday. Compared to the Full Body, I thought 20 minutes of abs would be cake.

I was so wrong.

My roommate and I had agreed to attend the 4 p.m. abs class, held in the North Gym of the White Building.

And I have to applaud whomever came up this idea -- the North Gym is huge, can fit virtually everyone who wants to take the class and therefore eliminates the need to arrive an hour early just to wait in line.

Feeling good, we swiped our cards, grabbed a mat and slid into a spot near the front. After pleasantly asking if this was anyone's first time, the perky, blonde instructor reassured us that we would have no problem keeping up.

Then at the strike of four, Cinderella turned into the Wicked Stepmother.

Her perkiness reached an entirely new level that I'd never known even existed and she began shrilling in an "I'll get you my pretty" kind of way.

Instantly every person in North Gym hit the mats, abs contracted. Up and down, up and down...

"We only have 20 minutes," she screamed. "We've got to work hard to make it count!"

Apparently she wanted to fit the amount of exertion in a 40-minute workout into half the time. This could only mean bad things for my not-yet washboard stomach.

After only 10 minutes my roommate and I felt like we were going to die. But at this point, she was off her instructor stage (made oh-so skillfully out of the platforms used in step class) and was prowling through the rows and rows of unsuspecting exercisers.

One student apparently was not working up to her expectations, so she made us do the set of crunches again. I felt her eagle eyes turn our way and urged my roommate to keep going for fear of her being the next target.

Another student reminded the instructor as she patrolled that she wasn't physically doing the sets, so she couldn't know how hard it was. She then reminded him that there wasn't any talking back in washboard abs.

The entire thing eventually became so comical that our ab workout came more from intense laughter than crunches. But a workout really shouldn't be that funny. A workout should push you, just enough so that you have to work hard, but not enough that it kills you.

In turn, an instructor should do the same. They should encourage and motivate, but within a supportive context. They need to find the balance between high school cheerleader and boot camp trainer.

I'm all about getting fit. But not if doing so means someone is going to have to scream in my face for an entire class.