I went to Aerobics last night. My feet are a bloody mess.

I dont quite know how I found myself in the class room, it just kinda happened. One minute, I was happily jogging along, watching the news headlines on the overhead screens and then I heard the high energy doof-doof-doof music pumping through the room. Of course, I had to go check it out.

I found a room full of adrenalin junkies, all whooping and clapping and being all enthusiastic. I must have got swept up into that wave of energy and dragged into the mirrored room. "Garry" the instructor jogged to the front of the group and started bouncing and clapping and motivating. I found myself shouting and bounding along with the rest of the class, all eager to get underway. When asked "You all ready?" we shouted in chorus: "HELL YEAH! "

Not surprisingly, I wasn't ready at all.

What unfolded was an hour worth of ritualistic pain and sadism. I kinda managed to keep to the program, just like I kinda managed not to trip over my own feet. Coordination is not my finest asset. No normal person submits themselves to that much noise, that much movement, and that much god damn energy unless they're on some illegal substance! It was a case of BYOE, and I was all out of Class B drugs.

"GRAPEVINE!" Oh shit. Here we go again.

I emerged post-ritual, redfaced and limping. My arms were sore, my feet were blistered and my brain felt rattled about from all the high impact leaping and prancing. I got home, peeled my sweaty, bloody socks off and tried to make amends by soaking in a bath tub for over an hour. The bubbled-up bliss was amazing. The whole experience was worth it simply for the sensation of relief when I slid into that tub and closed my eyes.

My feet are now held together with some carefully applied elasto-plast. Of course, I'm going again next week, but I think I might invest in a better pair of shoes.