Shake It 'til You Break It
Not actually me. The hair's all wrong.
I have been dying to try Zumba ever since I first heard of it. Problem is, I heard of it like three years ago. But it's a Latin dance workout - and, much like a Brazilian wax, wasn't exactly something I wanted to dive into without some moral support. And I couldn't seem to recruit the moral support.*
*Which may or may not be why I also have never actually had a Brazilian wax.
Until yesterday, when my new neighbor N. - yes, the one to whom I delivered the poo cupcakes - asked me if I wanted to join her at the 5:45 Zumba class.
Um, YES!!! *fist pump* OMGOMGOMG YES!!!
*throat clear* I mean, yeah, that'd be cool.
I was so excited ... seriously. Especially since N. had never been to a Zumba class either and, well, had just as much of a chance as I did of looking like a total stiff-hipped moron. I mean, I might do a bit of swiveling here and there when I play "Just Dance" on my Wii - but I'm no Shakira, people.
I put on my rattiest workout clothes because they're currently the only garments that fit me without creating odd lumps or rolls. (Damn you, holiday hoss-fest.) They're also the only garments that wouldn't betray the fact that immediately after I got out of N.'s car, I was struck by a bubble of gas and had to walk across the parking lot with clenched cheeks, lest some inadvertantly slip out. I was afraid it would, you know, be a little loud and I don't know N. well enough yet to scare her like that.
It was nice to see the variety of people in the class. There were college-aged girls, and there were ladies who looked like they might've gone to high school with Jesus. There were pleasantly plump women and there were chicks who would blow away in a gust of wind. In both categories, I was comfortably in-between.
Thus, I Zumba'ed my in-between ass off. Normally in that kind of situation I'd be mildly self-conscious but seriously? I didn't even care. I just shook it like I was trying to break somethin'. Yeah, so maybe when I jiggled my hips, it set off a ripple effect in the fattier parts of my physique ... but the chick in front of me kept holding her boobs, so I didn't feel bad. Plus I was having a damn good time. Zumba is fun, y'all.
There were only two crappy things about the class: 1.) the back wall was actually a window, where a gaggle of early-teenaged boys gathered to no doubt gawk at the perky little Zumba teacher shaking her perky little moneymaker. After which she proceeded to 2.) break out in hives, which caused her to cut the class like half an hour short.
But still. I had fun. And anyway, I was
After that, I came home and devoured a Jethro Bodine-sized bowl of chili and like eight dozen rolls.
Baby steps, right?