kerouac says

i stuffed my loathing into the smallest possible zip-loc and dragged my butt through the feet of snow to dance class this morning. i have not been to class in years, and re-entry can be exceptionally painful.

this one was okay, though. mostly because the teacher has a pink mohawk (i know, but it's not gross) and is french and named Saba. he's sharply funny and really very good. i was dismayed--the technique was a little too advanced, and there's something seriously wrong with my hip joints, i know everyone's tight but i am, like, broken--but then, i looked around, and everyone sucked. since i no longer have to be the best one in the room to try anything, i was doing okay assuming i was the only one, but when i discovered everyone looked like crap, it was even better. then the magic dance guy asked us to run across the floor, and then said,

"i think you have forgotten why we run. why do we run?"

(the class is silent. i breifly consider saying, "because something is chasing us?" and then someone says, "for life?" and someone else says, "for love?")

"yes. you run for love. you people run like something is chasing you. let me see you run for love."

and let me tell you, running for love is fun but you could not look dorkier if you were a giant dildo.