Subscribe Contact Facebook Follow us on Twitter Pinterest Google+ bloglovin

Zumba Make Me Laught-Out-Loud


I talked my daughter, Dani into going
to Zumba with me on Saturday.
I've been telling her how awesome it is,
how the music makes you want to
"move-it, move-it,"
how the time flies by
and the instructors are great.

She believed me.
That was BEFORE the class started.

I'd never been on Saturday mornings
I know I said I was going before but for whatever reason,
Saturdays had been too crazy during the school year.
Any-stinkin'-who,
We went on Saturday--
and there was a new Instructor,
Elody.
Who I am pretty sure is
on crack.
Think Zumba
on crack.
She wasn't really on crack--
she had about 8 to 10 other Zumba instructors
in the class--
(they all had Zumba! shirts on too!)
she was showing them her stuff.
I saw this,
and yet
I stayed.

The music cued up,
the instructor started "instructing"
and I use that term lightly--
she was a big honkin' show-off
is what she was--
and then I had a spiritual experience...
I started praying--
"Oh help me keep up,
Oh help me not die."--
and other assorted, varied pleas to
my Maker.

Fifteen minutes in it,
my face is blotchy red,
I am sweating like a stuck pig in Mississippi,
and guess what, chicken butt?
So is everyone else.
I look over at Dani--
who is fiercely trying to keep up with
this maniac instructor--
and she looked worse than when she was in labor
6 months ago.

I motioned for her to get a drink of water
with me...
she followed.
"You don't have to do everything she says,
just keep moving. We've already done 30, I mean 15 minutes."
I say to her.
Dani asks,
"I thought you said this was fun?"
Takes a drink and asks,
"You coming back?"

Of course I went back.
How could I not?
I went back to my "spot"--
and noticed two young teenage girls
behind me,
I turned to a little blonde gal
and said,
"I'm nearly 49 years old,
and I may pass out,
but don't worry--
my daughter is right there (pointing to Dani)
and she knows CPR."
The blondey smiled at me.

I went back to searching
for the salsa beat
for my feet to get in rhythm with--
and try as I might,
I couldn't make my body
move
like it was
on crack.
That's when it happened--
it was loud,
unrestrained
bordering hysterical--
laughter.
I couldn't hold it in--
this was insane!
How on earth did this instructor think
ANYONE
without professional training
could keep up with her??
Yet, there I was--
twisting
turning
rhumba-ing
cha-cha-ing
spinning
twirling
touching my nose with my tongue
speaking Zumba-ese
with the best of 'em
and it was ridiculous!
I laughed so hard,
I couldn't breathe.
Well, I couldn't breathe anyway,
but oh-my-hex
a funny bone was hit with a sledge hammer
and I couldn't help myself.

Of the 50 or so women in the room,
maybe 20 knew what they were doing--
the rest of us
were making up our own steps
modifying the crazed instructor's steps
in the name of
Survival!
No longer was I praying for relief--
I was looking around me for a soft place to land!

I was moving my bahooey
to a latin beat
wearin' brown sweats
and I started thinking I might make it
despite the evil instructor's effort to slay us all
with her bahooey-shakin' moves.
I was gonna live to tell the tale!
And you know you're a TRUE BLOGGER
when you're in this kind of situation
and start taking mental notes of just how
you're going to tell this story!

Anywayyyyy

A Shakira ballad
came on
and I knew the cool down was there.
There was a light at the end of the tunnel.
I had survived.
The paramedics were not called in--
there were no casualties Saturday at the YMCA.
We would all live another day to
Zumba.
Which for me,
is tonight at 7:30pm.
Bring It.


Psst: When I checked my Body Bugg stats I'd burned 1400 calories and over 4000 steps in one hour!!

The Old Woman Who Lived In A Shoe has nothing on this
mother of seven yahoos who blogs it all at Momza's House.

 
Enjoy shopping for quality baby clothing at TradeTang.com

Google+ Followers

Facebook