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.