“Zumba” Is a Synonym for “Devil”
I’ve been affectionately called “more of an indoor girl.” I despise going to the gym. Actually, I have enjoyed Zumba once or twice in the past. I took dance for 10 years. I have a booty. I enjoy Latin beats. Shakira is one of my idols. But last night I had a revelation. I canNOT Zumba.
My nightmare began at 6:15 after a long day in the office and a surprisingly quick 45-minute commute. I had carpooled to work and I sent the girl I rode with an email in the morning, “Can we leave work at 5? I ‘might’ go to Zumba tonight.” The quotes were snuck in as a joke to follow up when I had told her the other day that I “go to the gym.” (You have to picture air quotes here, which my managing editor has outlawed in the office, just out of pure hatred for the things.)
The fatal flaw was that the aerobic studio was filled to bursting with about 35-40 women, 1 man, and 1 10-year-old boy. Are you kidding me?? I could barely breathe, let alone swing my arms without hitting at least 4 people. How was I going to spring, pump, thrust, etc.? After two minutes, I wrestled with my conscience. How bad would it look if I grabbed my bag (which had 3 other bags thrown on top of it in the corner) and simply walked out the door and put this impossible class in my rear view? Am I really that weak and out of shape that I can’t muster the strength to get through this?
I persevered and got through the pain and embarrassment. There is supposed to be no shame in Zumba. You dance your ass off like no one is watching. You put on your best show for the mirror, pretending to be JLo or Beyonce and that you have a killer bod. Pretending. I am so out of shape and out of sync. The 9-months-pregnant girl in the front row can squat better than I can.
I have half a mind to write a letter requesting more Zumba classes that limit the number of participants, but I am so disheartened that I have no desire to return anyway. Now that I sit in a cubicle all the time, I am so depressed that I don’t have the ability to burn millions of calories running around a restaurant, all while earning money doing it. Imagine that—I used to get paid to work out. For now, I’m up against the wall in Zumba class.
Related Images:
