Turbo Kick Boxing turbo kicked my ass

In a relatively futile effort to battle this ever-growing buldge around my belly (similar to blubber, though not nearly as warm) I woke up early, sucked down a cup of coffee and a granola bar and dragged myself and my neighbor to the gym. Mind you, the gym and I are not friends. We're really not even on speaking terms lately, but drastic times call for drastic measures. And drastic this buldge has become. And so it was that I entered the world of turbo kick boxing- not my idea by any means. You see, the kick boxing I could handle. I might even go so far as to say that I was rather decent at it. The "turbo" is where things began to fall apart as quickly as Miss Turbo Dancerella in front of me was throwing her "speed bags" and "upper cuts". It all just seemed to go so fast. Jodi (Master kick boxer) would show something, I would do it, and then she would add all of these dancer moves to it- like jumping two feet off the ground in a split and calling it a jumping jack. Ummm, I thought this was about kicking, not showing off your jazz hands. It was like watching a bunch of way-too-cheery cheerleaders try to out-maneuver eachother. But I jabbed and I jumped and I kicked and I lunged and through it all I was laughing hysterically. Maybe it was the fact that Jen (my neighbor) and I announced ourselves as first timers and the instructor kept calling attention to us, or maybe it was the fact that we looked utterly ridiculous amidst all of those semi-professional martial artists, but this experience was truly a comedic high in my life. If only there were video. I think I just need to stick with spinning.