You've probably all heard of Zumba, the fitness craze that is sweeping the nation, somewhat like Jazzercize did back in the day. When I discovered that there are a number of Zumba classes offered in my smallish, rural-ish town, I thought, "Hey, maybe I should 'Join the Party,' as Zumba fanatics apparently say.
Actually, my first thought was, "What? This town is actually hip enough to have Zumba classes? Wow." I mean, not to belittle my town, but we don't even have a Target. Seriously. But I digress.
I went to the class for the first time last week and I attended another one this evening, and I have to say, I really like it. For those of you not in the know, Zumba is basically a dance aerobics class with really great music. The moves are a combination of Latin and, well, I don't know. But they are fun.
One caveat, though: if you are thinking of attending a class, you might not want to make bacon that evening for your kids. Because then, you would come to class reeking of the stuff, even though, you very conscientiously changed clothes before venturing out. Apparently, the stench got in your hair and possibly your blood system, so that when you sweat (and you WILL sweat, let me assure you) you will emit bacon fumes that will make concentrating on the moves extremely difficult. Not to mention how hungry you will be for a good BLT.
I wouldn't be surprised if women leaving the class headed over to Denny's for pancakes and extra bacon tonight.
I didn't seem to have too difficult of a time picking up the steps tonight. I think I really have a knack. I was doing all the cha cha cha, salsa and cumbia moves with no problem, smugly noticing the women around me who weren't catching on as quickly. I had found my groove. This Zumba stuff was for me! I was good.
I wasn't surprised really. I grew up on the south side of Chicago. I was the only white girl at many a quinceanara in high school and later my Latino ESL students taught me lots of great moves. I love Latin dancing.
So, I shimmied and danced and was sure that the teacher had noticed how great I was. I knew she must be wondering who I was and where I had come from. Where in the world had I learned those moves? she mused. What a natural, she thought. I was convinced she would pull me aside after class and insist that I take over for her, no training required.
I was that good.
Then, roused from my reverie, I looked around and realized that I was doing the totally wrong moves, and unfortunately, I caught a fleeting glimpse of myself in the thankfully small mirror. Let's just say I looked as if I had been possessed by an epileptic spirit who loves to gyrate her hips.
It's not actually a very attractive sight. Take my word.
This is why, what I am most grateful for, this Thanksgiving season, is that the lights in Zumba class are kept off. Oh, and that I never tried out for "So You Think You Can Dance."
Check out the Spin Cycle for some great posts about gratitude