Choose Your Classes Wisely

I may only be home for three weeks, but I've made it my business to shave off the extra five pounds of cheese, croissants, bread butter and bacon I put on it France while I'm here. This means: exercise classes with my mom! Zumba! Body Jam! Spin Class! And several other mildly entertaining and vastly embarrassing endeavors in which you shake and shimmy surrounded by 60 something year old saggy women in hot pink sports bras. This was suiting me all right, actually, and combined with lunch at the health food store buffet every day, I've all ready lost two of the five.

Yesterday, however, I got the afternoon schedule wrong and ended up in body combat: Surrounded by scary, screaming, jumping, flying and kicking muscly sweaty Hawaiian guys. The instructor was the muscly-ist and loudest of all; the sweat was fountaining off him as he instructed us to kill imaginary pirates and ninjas with elbow jabs, back kicks, and the most common, knee-to-face plants. I lasted 45 minutes of the hour class before I felt like I'd burst an artery in my brain. Today I feel like I've been hit by a bus. But now I have ROCK HARD PIRATE KILLING ABS YYYEEEEAAAHHHH!!!!