Footloose: Jane’s Barefoot Body Pump

My mom’s in town. Staying with me. She is, um, a neurotic woman. And she’s a morning person. I, however, am not.

So this morning while I was busy avoiding her, I packed my gym clothes and left them by the door, ready to grab-and-go as I left for work. I was a little frazzled by the pre-8am inquisition.

I headed to work and spent the day frazzled by a completely mindless project that I managed to botch terribly. Because I’m awesome like that.

I came home for lunch and had yet another long discussion with my mother about stuff that I didn’t want to talk about, then back to work for more fixing-the-thing-I-screwed-up. This fixorating kept me at work late, and I ran out the door to the gym in an attempt to make my 7:00pm Body Pump class. I was focused acutely on the task of getting to the gym, finding parking, changing, and getting in line — prepared to elbow the other bitches out of the way. (The front right corner is mine. I make a reservation every week. Get in fucking line.)

So I arrive at the gym and find my body-pumping-coworker in the locker room. We exchange pleasantries and started changing into our hottest workout gear. I threw my bag into the locker and put the lock on.

Problem.

No shoes.

WHAT THE FUCK! I left my fucking shoes at home. But I do not miss Body Pump. So after confirming that I am an idiot, I start asking around. Shockingly enough, no one had a spare size 10 pair of shoes.

So what do I do? Hmm? I fucking do Body Pump barefoot. It was actually an interesting experience. I won’t go into the “wow, I felt so grounded” stuff. It was just a completely different feeling. My balance was different. My toes were digging harder. I was a barefooted, hippie, weightlifting machine.

Oh, and a complete idiot. I blame my mom because it’s what I do. If she wasn’t pestering me all morning, I wouldn’t have forgotten my shoes, right?

Yeah – probably not. Just an idiot.