80s aerobics unleashed

I participated in my first Zumba class yesterday. I use the term participated very loosely because what I really did was flail my arms and shake my booty occasionally whilst others Zumba-d around me. I did manage to keep up with the 60+ year old man. At least, from my perspective I did, maybe not.

I wasn’t planning on going but I was hypnotized by the pulsating Latin beat. Somewhere deep, deep down I must have the music in me. I just haven’t tapped into it, yet. I thought I would give it a try. Kristen Higley walked in so I decided to stay. We decided that Zumba is the same as 80s aerobics. It’s still the grapevine and side-together-side and the pony except now they expect you to gyrate your hips while at the same time raising your arms in praise to the unofficial Latin god of Dance. On the way down from the arm praise, you are to drag your fingertips along the sides of your torso as if to ask, “Don’t You Wish Your Girlfriend was Hot Like Me?”

I would manage to get a few of the steps but then the count of eight was over and they were on to the next gyration. Huh? I remembered from my 7:00am aerobics class at BYU that there was a cool down song somewhere. I kept asking Kristen, “Is this the cool down song?” She would reply, “Not yet, maybe the next one.” Me: “How about now?” Kristen: “Maybe in five, maybe ten minutes.” Me: “How about this one? This is it, right?” Kristen: “No, not yet.” Arrgh! I’m thinking the Latinos never disembark the Hot Tamale Train.

I looked over in the corner of the room and to my horror I saw two fifth grade girls that were in my inclusion class last year. I thought those poor, poor children. They are goin’ to need therapy. They were sitting against the wall like they were worn out. I motioned for them to get up. I wiggled over to them and told them that if I could do this then they better do it too. One of them said, “I asked my mom if we could stand beside Mrs. Clayton and she said we could.” I replied, “Ok, but you might get hurt.” I was thinking I’m just glad they are moving on to sixth grade at the Middle School. Maybe no one will believe their nightmarish tales of Mrs. Clayton and her seizures.

Thoughts on the instructors/contortionists: They could make more money if they did these moves in a different venue. One of them is a friend of Madison’s from school. We should have fed her more cake at Madison’s 7th birthday party. Who knew she would grow up to be a torturer to fat, middle aged white ladies (me, not Kristen)? All kidding aside, she is a very sweet girl.

I managed to finish the class in an upright position and I have to say that today my buttocks felt a tiny bit tighter.