Thursday, 16 March 2017


I didn't expect much from the 1986 National Aerobic Championship US, but I was unpleasantly surprised at how tired it made me: physically, mentally, existentially. 

There's something terrifying about the bouncing, perma tanned, fixed smile, glassy eyed fervor of the contestants, all desperate to win - to be the absolute best in something that is never going to amount to anything.  The whole event reminds me of a dayglo coloured Nazi rally with the stiff armed salutes replaced by relentless high kicking, but then that may just be the hyperbolic response of someone who has never known the feel of lycra. 

Take no notice of me, I'm exhausted. 

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