I always said I would never do Zumba. I mean, look at this, it involves dancing, in public, sober: what the hell? But I had sniffed out a class going on at the gym while I was on the elliptical the other week and it didn’t look *that* bad, so I figured I’d give it a try in the spirit of all things Juneathon.
I fucking hated it.
“Hate” may be a bit strong, but by 11:03 I had started checking my watch and class didn’t start until 11:00. Around 11:30 I told the woman next to me that I wanted to go home and she said the instructor wouldn’t mind if I left, but I said I’d stick it out.
Even though the class wasn’t full of young, slim, coordinated, rhythmic women (I guess the average age was around 50), I was convinced that I was moving more haphazardly and had looking more perplexed than anyone. The instructor was moving, wiggling, jumping and squatting, and just as I caught up to what she was doing, she started doing something else.
My goodness, I have never been so happy for the stretching part of a class to arrive.
I didn’t think Zumba was for me and I was right. At least I tried, right?
Related