How I broke my foot

This month, for summer break, the dance school organized an Intense African Month. So now three times a month I am dancing and jumping and most of all sweating but loving every minute of it ... until yesterday. My dance teacher decided we were going to support this celebrity teacher who was here for the next 4 weeks. He has different classes every day and so we will have to dance every day. Well you know I like a challenge so I was there bright and early the next day for an hour of contemporary dance and then zumba.
I got to the place and looked around at all the young dancers jumping and bending themselves in self-expressive contortions. I turned to my friend and said No way am I going to make a fool of myself. I will wait for zumba. Turning away, one of the ladies come running after us to tell us that the teacher is waiting for us to join before he begins. Darn! So there I was twisting and turning and trying to remember 4 counts of eight choregraphy. Half hour in the class and I am panting like I just ran a double marathon but I am still right in there with them. I even got a couple of nods from the teacher. Anyway, I am next up and I need to do some jumping and twisting when all of a sudden I stumble. Clumsy me stepped on my own sock and twisted my own foot. Boy, does that hurt! I know I am supposed to stop but I cannot let these skinny girls think that a fatty cannot keep up. So I suck it up and keep going.
The ride home: agony. Getting up of couch: agony. Sleeping:agony. Walking: immense pain. Wagging of toes: impossible.

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