Skip to main content

Move This

Last night I happened to get to the Y minutes before a popular Zumba class was starting.
If you don’t know what Zumba is it is a cross between salsa dancing, aerobics and those naughty moves from dance videos that you never want to see your kids doing.

This class is always full and I have watched it from my treadmill a few times. I’m not really sure why, but last night I wandered in.

Let me preface this with a few things.
I don’t do formal aerobics.
Not since that crazy aerobics fad about a dozen years ago where you slid on a slippery pad with these little footie things and I slid completely off and about broke my face.
Or the time I took out not only my own “step” but also the two people’s next to me in step aerobics and the instructor kindly encourage me to try the circuit room.
Or the time I managed to almost knock myself out in kickboxing.
Or my perpetual fear of farting during pilates/yoga ( and I’m just not stretchy like that).
Or not being able to sit down for a week after spin class.

I also don’t dance.
I mean back in the day I did do a mean MC Hammer and I entertained a very brief club face that did involve some dancing. ( if that is what you want to call it).
And I also lost many a pound post baby #1 making my way up to the intermediate level on Dance Dance Revolution.
And we do have dance parties in the living room every time the “family song” comes on…….
but I don’t dance (or sing) in front of other people (without much liquid encouragement), and this is the way we want to keep it.
For safety reasons.

But….Zumba always looks like so much fun.
And I just wasn’t feeling the treadmill last night.
I thought maybe I could sneak into the back and go un-noticed.
I stood next to a mousy looking Asian woman with glasses, another woman who looked about 10 months pregnant, and anther older than my mom. Thinking surely I could hang with these girls.

And let me tell you, pregnant girl, mousy Asian woman and grandma have some serious moves.
This overweight white girl DOES NOT.
I tired.
I so tried.
I cumbiaed, salsaed, popped it, shook it, rolled it and did some moves that make my club days look tame.
If I were Catholic I’d have to go to confession.

I was stiff and off beat and went the wrong way and looked ridiculously silly.
But silly and slightly skinnier.

Comments

samskat said…
i've been wanting to try zumba but i'm a chicken....even though my minor was dance....maybe i'll try it now.
samskat said…
follow up comment:

went to yoga tonight, the pregnant girl in my yoga class had better balance than me. did i mention i minored in dance???? argh.
Dawn said…
I think I just wet my pants from laughing so hard!
Dawn said…
(This is Brent). I share the fear of farting during yoga. It hasn't happened yet it's only a matter of time.

Popular posts from this blog

Either/Or

Recently I met an old friend for lunch. He was actually my senior high prom date. He wasn’t just my prom date, but had been my friend for a good part of high school. And our group has mostly stayed in touch through the years. But not him. Even though we live in the same big metroplex, I hadn’t seen him in almost 15 years. At prom, He even won some kind of senior superlative, Mr. BHS or something like that. In other words, he was well-liked, nice, funny and smart. And it helped that he drove a Camero. We didn’t break up or have a falling out. He kind of just disappeared. And not just from me, but from everyone. And I had looked for him. At class reunions. On myspace. And eventually, only about a year ago, he finally showed up on facebook. When he did, I suggested we get together for dinner or something. And he responded with a really awkward email. Explaining that he was gay. Warning me. Trying to let me out of my dinner invitation if I wanted. And I already knew this. Possibly I had ev

me too

I used to never question God. It was just part of the way things were. Just like I believed in Santa and the tooth fairy and the Easter bunny. And eventually I grew up and started to wonder. I always believed, But occasionally I started to wonder if he was always good. If he really loved me. Singular me rather than an all inclusive version. That he was paying attention. That my prayers mattered.` And I didn’t know that I should play by the rules. That questioning these outloud things in a Bible study or Sunday School class Will get you bumped to the top of the prayer list. Because I know. But sometimes I wonder. And I didn’t need their scripture memory verses or their books or their prayers. (but I guess prayers never hurt) And I was just hoping for someone else to say “me too”. And, Jason Boyett’s book, O Me of Little Faith Is one great big “me too” And like most books I like he asks a whole lot more questions than he answers. Hard ones. Ones without real answers. Ones that make me wa

imaginary friends

Recently I had a friend disappoint me. I didn’t tell them. And I didn’t write about it when it happened. Instead I seethed a little and got angrier and slightly resentful and finally dumped it on my husband. (who had some great advice that will come later) And. I have hesitated to write this piece because a lot of my real life friends read this. Maybe even the one I’m writing about. Maybe not. Actually I’m not really sure. And to be honest the best pace to work this out would be with them. Just them. And not on line. But. It’s not really about them. It’s more about me. And I don’t think there is so much to work out anyways. So, if you are my real life friend and are reading this and wondering, hesitantly or fearfully if this is about you. It might be. But it probably isn’t. And again. Even if it is. It’s not REALLY about you. And if it isn’t. It could be. If we have been friends for more than five minutes, we have probably had a moment like this. So, back to me venting to my husband.