Yea, two posts in a day. I was far more excited to write this on the Metro ride home, but upon reading Freddy's leaking tampon incident...er, I mean, nosebleed, everything seems to pale in comparison. Nonetheless, here goes nothing.
As you may know, I recently purchased a fitness pass at GWU's gym as a means of forcing myself to attend classes. The drop-in rate is $6; a fitness pass for the semester is $72, so attending more than 12 classes means you will get a better deal. Monday nights after history = BOOT CAMP. No need to know what this entails except that I was still sore on Thursday last week. Classes are usually populated by the masses of Marc-Jacobs/Burberry/Frye-wearing idiots I like to call GWU undergraduates.
Part of the workout today included 3 minutes of jump rope. Unfortunately, there weren't enough jump ropes for everyone, so about a quarter of the class resorted to invisible jump roping (including myself). The instructor yells at us to begin, and so, sans jump rope, I hop to the beat of Rihanna. To my right, a girl in a cut-off tie-dye shirt looks at her jump rope cluelessly. She turns to her friend and hands her the jump rope. I see this happening across the room. Wtf is going on?
Friend starts jumping and immediately trips. Tries doing it with a double bounce, fails again. This seems to be a common occurrence amongst most of those posessing jump-ropes. Meanwhile, I am still bouncing along front-back, skip, side-to-side, humming Disturbia in my head, and trying not to keel over laughing from the ineptness of these girls. The looks on their faces...
I mean, didn't anyone participate in the Kangaroo Club in elementary school? There needs to be a grad school version of it; I'd rock that.
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