Let me tell you about my first step aerobics class.
I was in my twenties and, like all 20-somethings, I was thin. Problem was, I lived in Los Angeles, where any woman who weighs more than 100 pounds automatically qualifies for a spot in the hippo exhibit at the L.A. Zoo. So I decided to get fit.
My company offered all employees a health-club benefit: $50 a month paid directly to the gym of our choice. This was a long time ago, when nobody except people in L.A. went to gyms. It was also a heap of cash, so I could join the fancy-schmancy Gym-To-The-Stars only 15-minutes (and a world) away from my (crummy) apartment.
I promptly went shopping and bought a pile of aerobics outfits—those little thong things that looked so good on Jane Fonda (note: I do not now nor have I ever looked like Jane Fonda)—and a pair of pink sneakers.
I was ready.