Friday, February 4

Zoom, Zoom, Zumbaing in Zumba

I joined a new gym and went to Zumba today for the first time.  The class began at 10:30 and I was a little late.  Everyone was wearing yoga pants and cute spaghetti strap T-shirts.  I didn’t get the memo and I was wearing my running shorts and another pajama shirt masquerading as a Zumba shirt.  I brought an air of dance confidence with me because I have on occasion been known to shake my bootie.  I don’t know what happened today.  My bootie and my body were disassociated and none of my parts seemed to move in concert with one another.  At one point I glanced in the mirror and I looked like I was reaching for a box of cereal on the top shelf at the grocery store. I tried to stay focused on Genie, the Zumba teacher which was easy because she was amazing.  The next time I caught my reflection in the mirror I looked like I was trying to start a lawn mower.  I checked the clock in hopes that the class would be over soon and it was only 10:39.  I had been there 9 minutes and I had already done yard work and gone to the grocery store. 

How would I ever last through 51 more minutes of Zumbaing?  Genie’s feet moved so quickly.  I couldn’t keep up with her and at one point everyone was salsa walking forward and I was still salsa turning in place and I caused a small traffic jam.  I checked the clock again and it was only 10:46.  This was the slowest moving clock in the history of exercise.  I went to the bathroom and that killed about 4 minutes because it was downstairs.  I also took 3 water breaks.  That killed about 4 minutes.  The water was Genie’s idea because she told us we had to stay hydrated and I didn’t bring my water bottle.  I was convinced we were near the end of the class and at the cool down when I looked at the clock again and it was 11:09.  I didn’t want to be a sissy and leave early, so I tried to hide in the back.  Then Genie turned us all around so that I went from hiding in the back row, to being in the front row at the 50 yard line.  Eventually we turned around again so I could look in the mirror and watch my body not do the things that my brain was telling it to do. 

When I was 24 years old and single, I used to go to Salsa Night every Monday night at one of my favorite bars.  There were always a lot of Brazilian men there that were very good dancers.  Up until today, I believed they danced with me because they thought I could dance the salsa very well.  Now I know that they danced with me because they thought my blue jeans fit my bootie very well.  I might be salsa walking my way out of Zumba.

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