May 4, 2003

I am making a step aerobics class friend. I’ve now been to three classes that she was in, and we’re having nice bonding-type moments. The thing is, though, that she’s even newer to step than I am, and so knows the steps even less well than I do, and I’m worried she’ll get discouraged and start going to step basics instead, and then I’ll be taking step alone again, which wasn’t so bad when I didn’t realize what the alternative was, but which would be a crying shame now that I know how nice it is to have a step aerobics class friend.

So in class on Friday, I decided that I was going to be slightly more incompetent than usual, so that she would see that she wasn’t the only one who was having trouble with the steps and would feel a bond with me and wouldn’t get discouraged and start going to step basics instead. This was a brilliant idea, except for the fact that, as I mentioned yesterday, I’m in love with the instructor.

I know he’s available, because the guy who teaches my 9:15 Saturday step aerobics class told me that he (6:00 Friday, not 9:15 Saturday) used to date the guy who teaches my 10:30 Wednesday step aerobics class but they broke up. Which leaves the field free and clear for me. (I would also be in love with 9:15 Saturday and 10:30 Wednesday, but the former is already taken and the latter is so clearly a bottom that there wouldn’t be any point. Which is also encouraging, because if he was dating 6:00 Friday, that means 6:00 Friday must be a top.)

In any case, for a little while I stepped more incompetently than usual, so as to encourage my friend, but then I realized that looking even more like a moron than I usually do in step class wasn’t going to do much for my chances with the instructor. So I switched tactics and started trying even harder than usual to do well, so as to erase in his mind the memory of my incompetence at the beginning of class. But then I looked over at my friend and realized this might cause me to lose her.

I spent the entire class in a state of near-panic, swinging schizophrenically from incompetence to (relatively) dazzling proficiency and back again. Between this and making sure I was moving in accordance with the eighteenth century precepts of correct stage movement (which I discuss here), I’m surprised I didn’t have a nervous breakdown right then and there.

After class I asked him when else he taught, hoping to be able to go without my friend and not have to worry about it, but the only other classes he teaches are when I have cheerleading practice, so it’s back to the drawing board.

It’s so hard to be me.