Pants You Don't Care About

Yesterday at EB, DI-Size0 told us to wear pants we didn't spend a lot of money on to class on Friday. OK. That sounds good because I typically wear my satin Donna Karan's. Anyhow, I showed up today in the sweats that I wore when we painted our last townhouse. I wear them usually when I am sick or have no intention of leaving the house. Frankly, I was intrigued. What could they possibly do that required pants we didn't care about?

So, after the intro of calisthenics and some stretching, DI-Size0 and her bf, DI-MC, jogged us out to a soccer field (or was it a football field?) and told us to get on the floor. The grass was ALL damp. They made us do so many things on the wet grass and touching the wet grass. I distinctly remember the smell of dog pee. I had many pieces of grass and dirt and mud on me. It was ewey.

Bleck.

I just don't like being dirty. Every day after a NORMAL class I pull out a container of baby wipes and wipe my dirty hands. It would have taken a truck full of wipes to assist me today. I was dirty dirty. My clothes were all wet (and not because of the sweet sweat that typically happens).

We did many horrible things today on the wet wet grass. Inchworms. Alligator crawls. Bear crawls. Crab crawls. Push ups, crunches. Ew. I still feel itchy thinking about it.

Ew.

This EB was not for the faint of heart. It was not for the ones with an inner Howard Hughes.

I assure you, the next time DI-Size0 tells us to wear our shitty pants. I will wear them and sleep until 6:30 in my dry, comfy, warm bed.

That's just a wrong kind of dirty.