Shake your money maker

Sunday AM bright and early I donned my pirate bandanna, running shoes and the unnecessary sports bra and headed to my first Jazzercise session in over a year. I have realized over the past three months that I have put on weight and skipping a few meals here and there ain't fixin it. The best way to put it, I got junk in the trunk. So, anyway, my lovely fitness conscious friend and I have been trying to get to Jazzercise for about six weeks. Yesterday it happened.

Water bottle, yoga mat and towel in hand I re-entered the building I left in shame a year ago. (I was called out of class because C. had hit some kid with a truck and bloodied his lip. I never went back) I walked up to the counter and said that I wanted to buy a 10 class pass. Great. They don't take credit cards. I have no money or checks. It appeared to me that Jesus was talking to me through the over forty women in spandex. I should have listened. The owner saw that I was about to bolt and offered me a free class. Here I was all dressed up and no place to shimmey. She took pity.

Once class started I remembered the other reason why I quit. I have no coordination. I imagined myself as a cartoon character doing the Charleston while everyone else was doing the rumba. The only saving grace is that Amy is as uncoordinated as I am. However, she is thinner and cuter, so she can get away with it. At one point I was just flapping my arms and kicking my legs randomly in the air. My theme song for that moment was," I'm beautiful, no matter what they say..." I made it through the session, when it dawned on me that a lot of the faces were familiar. A year later they were no skinnier or more athletic than I remember. Not a ringing endorsement for the Jazzercise program. I did however learn some new moves for the next time I go clubbin'.

Luckily it was time to go. I climbed into the car, lit a cigarette and headed for a much needed Big Mac.