I walked over to the YMCA and attended a class called Body Pump.
Body Pump, for those unfamiliar, involves:
Two ladies on cordless microphones.
A barbell. Much fussing about with changing weights.
Horrendous, horrendous techno remixes of Eye of the Tiger and Gwen Stefani.
A big, booming gym filled with various Y patrons. Teenage boys.
Something called the Clean and Jerk. (Possible name for future comedy team?)
Diana Arens next to me, the only piece of normalcy I could glean from the situation.
Oddly: not much sweating.
And, of course, Pumping. Lots and lots of Pumping.
So then I went home and made lentil stew for dinner, watched a movie, fell asleep on the couch, moved to the bed, and had some pretty wacko dreams (as per usual). The best one involved wading in a lagoon with friends, two of whom decided to rollerblade underwater. And then all of a sudden they were lifted up and were rollerblading on the water's surface, which we then realized was actually the back of something HUGE, dark and slippery in it's own right. And then it revealed itself completely, and it was the biggest sea lion/whale/hippopotamus hybrid I've ever seen. It seemed menacing, so I fled into a nearby house where my Swiss yoga instructor was hanging out. I kept setting fire to most things around me. We walked into a little boy's bedroom where the windows were boarded up, and everything was in shades of mustard, brown, and orange. I said 'This is exactly what my 70's looked like!'. And he said 'HA HA HA HA!'
Interpretations anyone?
