Sunday, July 17, 2011
Ahh, Zumba. I was just sure adding a Zumba class to my work out routine would change my life. And it would be so easy and fun!
Cuz I’ve got my Pilates groove on now for better than a year. (By “groove” I mean I show up twice a week to pray for the class to be over or to have a massive heart attack and die quickly.) And don’t get me wrong. Pilates has changed me. My kids don’t have to tie my shoes for me anymore.
But I’m a Big Girl and I need some AEROBICS in my life.
Enter . . . Zumba class.
So I go to this over-crowded, not super-expensive gym and join. Just for the Zumba. (Arriba! Arriba!)
And they hold the class in this corner of the gym that has NO VENTILATION.
And it is crowded. Cuz Palm Springs chicks want their ZUMBA.
And believe it or not, there is an ongoing dispute over whether or not to TURN THE FAN ON! (WTF? It is Palm Springs, People. It’s a 100 flipping degrees out.) Cuz some of these delicate flowers are afraid they might catch a cold. From the fan.
So it’s crowded. And it’s hot. And there’s no air.
Why, now that I think about it, let’s just refer to it as Bikram Zumba.
So during Bikram Zumba, I look around the room and realize I am always the biggest or 2nd biggest chick in the room. These women look amazing. And they are wearing tangerine pants with ribbons dangling down their legs.
Me? Well I do love to try to rock the Fat Chic, but in BZ (that’s Bikram Zumba to you!) I just wear my standard yoga pants and a big, hangy down, T-shirt. And a giant sport bra. Cuz that’s how I roll. Or bounce, as the case may be.
And I can’t manage the fancy footwork. So I try to swing my arms with Zest. But it is crowded. So I invariable slap someone. #oopsie
And I can’t seem to make any friends in this class. Is it my tomato red face combined with my bad attire? Is it the flailing arms while my feet don’t move? It is the fact that I keep running to the clock in the other room to see HOW MUCH LONGER THIS SHEER HELL AND TORTURE WILL CONTINUE? Is it my witty jokes about how I hope I don’t need an ambulance soon?
No matter. Cuz whatever the deal, I keep showing up. And flailing. And sweating. And shouting Arriba!
And all that Latin Music? It makes me want a margarita and a shredded beef taco with a crispy shell.
And cuz I’m dehydrated? Make my margarita a double, with salt. Arriba!