In a pathetic attempt to change my lifestyle, I attended a neighborhood exercise class: JAZZERCISE!
It is as awkward and embarrassing and unholy as it sounds.
I was the only new person there in a room full of Jazzercise addicts and did not know any of the steps, so I stumbled around like an old man who is both blind and drunk. I felt a little like Noni from Showgirls when she first gets hired for the new Vegas show and has to jump in with the other dancers without knowing the routine, except I was not mostly naked and did not catch on in 2 seconds flat.
The lady teaching the class wore the funky headset with a microphone so she could shout out over-excited encouragements and step-changes every 4 seconds. She also sang along to the bad music pretty loudly, but I liked her anyway.
At one point we had to partner up with another lady and dosey doe!
I might go back on Monday if I cannot find an exercise class that did not hit its peak in 1982.