I’m still on this kick of trying to mix it up lately.
Part of that is getting involved, through a good friend, with a kind of workout I might not normally have considered: Zumba. If you haven’t heard of Zumba, then you must not be on Facebook, because it seems to me that every third status goes something like this:
- “Finally making it out to Zumba with my girls tonight – booty shake!”
- “SO Sore after Zumba last night! Those grannies can move!”
- “Who’s going to Zumba tonight? You know you want to!”
Am I right? Well, needless to say I feel Zumba has gone completely viral, so I was excited to finally be invited to a class, if for no other reason than just to figure out what the heck Zumba is.
Who-mba? What-a? Zumba.
According to their website, (Don’t you just love the heft of irrefutability those words carry?) it’s a fusion of latin and international music that creates a dynamic, exciting, and effective fitness system. In their words: “Ditch the workout, join the party!”
Ok. If by “fitness system” they mean complex combinations of four-dimensional hip gyrations punctuated by hot-coals style jumping from one foot to the other and while delicately timing the clicking of air castanets, then . . . yeah, it’s one heck of a fitness system. The instructor is like nothing I’ve ever seen. She is faster, lighter, more swivel-y, and just generally Zumb-ier than even Zumba itself. My Zumba, by way of contrast, is really more like a combination of auditioning to be a go-go dancer in a broke-down dive off the strip in Vegas, swirled arhythmically with a little sophomore-year fraternity basement dancing thrown in for good measure. Or maybe that’s just me.
Zum-bye-bye Boredom, and Perhaps Ego, too.
The key to Zumba success, from someone who is still — after two classes – striving to achieve it, is that while you are throwing your right him out thin the ultimate manifestation of Saturday-morning sassiness, you might as well go ahead and throw any caution, trepidation, nervousness, anxiety, and self-consciousness out with it. Five minutes into my first attempt I was forced to gulp down the remnants of my pride between tidal-wave gulps from my water bottle because, even though class was full of soccer moms, PTA treasurers, empty nesters, and old-timers, I appeared to be the ONLY representative from the Rhythmless Nation. As soon as I got over the hubris of my indignation at having not been mistaken for the Fly Girl who danced to the left of Jennifer Lopez on In Living Color, I genuinely had a lot of fun AND got a great work out.
The lesson I guess is that dedication is more than blind adherence to my boring little running program. If this shift from Blob to Blam is going to have any permanence at all, I’ve got to open up to a change in the landscape.
In short, here’s hoping Zumba helps me shake it, not break it.