I'm just not that into you.

Today I've had enough.

I don't want to do it anymore. And I'm not going to say, "It's not you, it's me," because it is you. I don't want to sleep on it, see how I feel in the morning. You annoy me. I'm frustrated. I'm losing sleep over this. A good three hours, to be exact. Twice a week.

You don't even get my blood pumping anymore. My heart rate? It gave up this morning. You've lost your luster. I can't even burn 500 calories anymore. Is that too much to ask?

Rope Burn, dear aerobics class, today I must say goodbye.

This morning's class (at 5:30 a.m., mind you) was the final straw. Your instructor, she yells too much. Honestly. What is it about aerobics instructors that convinces them a shrill, piercing scream is going to make us work harder?

"YYYYEEEEEAAAAAAOOOOWWWWWAAAARRRRGGGHHHH!!" Every eight seconds. For 45 minutes. It makes my skin crawl. It doesn't make my heart rate rise.

And jump roping? I'm too clumsy before 6 a.m. for this. I tripped and got whipped this morning more than I actually had a successful go 'round with the rope.

Then there's That Guy. That one guy. He secludes himself in the corner, in funny knee socks and bright red basketball shoes. Sweat bands around his wrists, and an old college t-shirt tucked into his shorts (which are too short.) That guy. He needs you. Not me. Just look at him. That look in his eye. He lives for you. I don't.

As soon as I picked up my jump rope this morning I knew. It wasn't the same. Something had changed. My body felt tired. My knees hurt. I blamed you.

And then: "YYYYEEEEEAAAAAAOOOOWWWWWAAAARRRRGGGHHHH!"

That's when I knew.

Thank God it's Thursday. Because I only have to say goodbye for five days. On Tuesday, I'll be back.

Dang. I'm a sucker.