I want to admit to the world how perfect I really am. I know you're all terribly jealous of my endless talent and size 0 post-baby body (notice I have not updated my photo in many many years).
I joined the Y recently because, well, I love Body Pump. And by "love" I mean "hate." And by "hate" I mean "it's my favorite way to get and stay in shape, even though I hate working out." I decided, after 10 long months of seeing the scale move up 2, down 2, up 3, down 4, up 1, etc., that I should maybe do something besides starve myself. And by "starve" I mean eat potato chips, ice cream, cookies and pasta. Those extra 25 lbs. aren't going to maintain themselves!
Are you following my code? Good.
I would like to tell you all about my amazing dancing talent by describing my latest experience with Zumba. (And by amazing, I mean...) Zumba is SO very cool for those of the human race who were blessed enough to receive the gift of coordination. I'll give you a window to my world of mad skills.
I enter the class at 10:05 and it is filled with ladies of all ages, shapes and sizes along with one middle aged man. I think to myself, how hard can this be? The lady behind me has got to be at least 90. I find my friend, stand by her, and the instructor asks if anyone is new. I do not raise my hand. Normally, I'd love to draw attention to myself, but not this particular Thursday morning. My friend informs me that the instructor is a sub and that the regular girl who is super fun and cute was the one she really wanted me to meet.
The music starts. Step touch, step touch. Hey this isn't so bad! I've actually done this step touch thing before when I took a community ed tap dancing class 12 years ago.
Now she adds arms. Up and out, and other arm, up and out. Whoa, hold on. I'm just getting into this step touch thing.
As soon as I feel confident enough in my feet, I attempt to add the arms, a good 16 beats behind the rest of the class.
And suddenly...change everything! Step kick and slide and kick. And one arm up and bend and flick and turn and belly roll and thrust and jump.
I find myself standing still while the old lady behind me is following along perfectly and dancing her adorable heart out in perfect rhythm. Maybe if I watch the Italian (or Greek or other exotic ethnic) beauty in the front row, I can copy her graceful moves and catch on better. Hey, yeah! That's totally working! I'm not so bad after all! Here we go! I'm totally gaining some confidence now. I've got this!
Then I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror and realize I'm only swaying to the music. Crap.
End of first song. I grab some water, not because I'm thirsty, winded or even warm, but because everyone else is doing it and it's something to which I actually can follow along.
And that's the first 6 minutes. I only have to repeat this process for the next 54 minutes. Oh joy. This is like a bad dance audition, except at dance auditions, I'm sweating more because I'm so stressed out that people are watching and judging (instead of watching and laughing). I suffer through the next song, then the next, then only 5 more while I watch the clock go more slowly than ever.
And the instructor thanks us all for coming while I laugh at myself and invite my friend to join me in making fun of my mad skills.
Though I'm not really sweating or winded at all since it was more a spectator sport for me, I did get a great ab workout from laughing so hard!