It' so easy that even 15 ladies who all seem to be wearing powder blue velour track suits can do it.

It is somewhat embarassing to admit that I now know how to grapevine step with spirit fingers and use big arms on my tango. No wait. Scratch that. Totally embarassing. Mostly I tried to channel Beyonce, and keep my eyes averted towards the ceiling.

There was this sign around the corner with an arrow pointing towards the church. Literally, a one minute walk from my front door. I was curious. Every morning, 8am, all the little old ladies on the Westside show up and prance around to Lady Gaga and Harry Connick Jr. songs.

Curiosity, killed the cat. And lured me in. Also my goal of better fast running and a small ass.

The vaguely pear shaped teacher had thin hair and black shoes and socks last seen in the '80's.

"Huff. Puff. So I'm lactose intolerant. Huff Puff. Spirit fingers, ladies. Ate too much cheese over the weekend. Huff. Big side step and TANGO!" comes in loud and clear, over and over, via her Britney Spears personal sound system strapped onto the side of her face while she kicks (Just like a Rockette, Ladies!) and squats her way around a plywood stage, up in the front of the gym.

I handed over my $20 monthly fee (all the classes you can eat) to a church lady named Dorothy, and off we go. At best, I'll call it retro. Dance steps from the land of sweaty step aerobics and thong leotards wedged up into your ass crack. I bet we learn the Hammer and the Running Man.

At the end, some kindly, overweight grandma types congratulated me on my moves. When I wasn't thinking Beyonce, I tried to be all gangsta shuffle like Snoop Dogg. If this dog agility thing doesn't pan out, maybe I can become the baggy pants Jazzercise star of the westside.

Now I'm weeping. Did I just say that?

At least I'm not lactose intolerant. And I'm so taking notes on what NOT to wear to Jazzercise. It's apparently one of those hard to dress for sports, like dog agility. But for gosh sakes, a one minute walk from my front door and maybe once or twice a week to help my fast running.

Grapevines, just front crosses with extra added spirit fingers.

I cheerier news, here's Jim's Gamble of the Week. Maybe he gives us one every week. 9pm sharp, on the top of the mountain and almost time to drive back down the mountain and up and over the other one, Jim comes out and lays down his pink gambler's rope around the field.

"It's an easy one."

I've heard that before. I go and get Otterpop back out of the car. Those poles are far away and there are things like a teeter totter and an a-frame in strategic positions. So not a Gustavo level gamble. Yet.

Try it. Make sure you're off the line when your dog is in the tunnel so you can push towards that jump at the end, I had to say OUT there, because I didn't get back off the line when Otterpop couldn't see me in the tunnel and Otterpop started to head towards the a-frame. Just for a split sec. She's the gamble queen. Turned her head right back at that jump and over she went.

The moral of this story? People that don't practice gambles may end up in tie-dyed leotards hacking out aerobics moves from the '80's in a chuch gym. When skort weather is upon us, heel toe kicking to some Lady Gaga won't kill you. And practice those weave pole entries from 100 miles away.