This month I started attending a step aerobics class in Springville. It’s unlike any step class I’ve ever joined, mostly because it’s actually a combination of step and jazzercize. It’s fun, though, and really convenient since it’s just three minutes from my house.

The class is small–about six women plus the teacher. Our instructor is an older middle-aged woman with three young grandkids and a lot of energy. I’m obviously the youngest member of the class (probably the only one under thirty) and the only one without kids to her name or post-baby fat on her hips.

Even though I knew this, the fact was made more obvious today when after class I walked to my four-door car hidden in the midst of six minivans.

They all drive minivans. The family car. Utah’s I-have-six-kids-with-one-on-the-way vehicle. (Actually, in Utah maybe that would be an SUV.)

I’ve been attending this class for three weeks and today was the first time I felt a little out of my league. Sure, I can bounce around longer than most of them and kick higher. But they all have bigger autos and families than me.

Sigmund Freud said, “If youth knew; if age could,” and I think I see the truth in that.