|analytical Q||May-Aug 2000||Sept-Dec 2000||Jan-Apr 2001||Discussion|
Step 2, 3, 4.
March it out.
L-step left. L-step right.
Turn step. Again. Turn step.
I could hardly keep up the pace. The music blasted in my ear. As I struggled to stay in sync with others, my eyes were glued on the clock above the instructor. The minute hand crawled.
Last time I worked out like this, I complained that it was too easy. I was manic about aerobics three years back. Every single day of the week, I sweated to the techno beat.
Luckily my shoe lace loosened. I had to stop to tie it. Then I got thirsty, so I ran to get a drink of water. Forty-five minutes gone, it was time to cool down. We slowed down. By now, my face was red and my body hot.
As I lay there on my back doing sit-ups, I thought to myself, "there has to be an easier way to get in shape." This kind of loud music interfered with my inner self. It caused dissonance within me. Perhaps it's time I try yoga.