Now THAT was Zumba....

 Zumba,  n;  1. A Colombian word meaning "to move fast and have fun."


Wow. Let me  preface all of this with, you are all extremely lucky that I am alive & well enough to even be writing this. Seriously!

That said, I attended Zumba again tonight-- but at a different studio (this one is at my gym,) and with a different instructor from last week.  Those of you from Bedford, picture 'Senorita' on crack...WAY more excited, WAY more energy (yes, it is possible), and WAY too happy and un-sweaty for my liking.  Anyways, I can honestly say that never in my 29 years of existence, have I felt as close to death as I did between the hours of 6 & 7 pm this evening.  But in order to get to that point, let's start at the beginning.

So I eagerly arrive to class a few minutes early, and imagine my surprise when everyone is wearing sports bras or tank-tops, tight black leggings, and these brilliantly colorful belly dancing get-ups adorned with clanking silver bead "coins."  I think to myself, "Self, this is definitely different than the comfy Target yoga pants/big t-shirt costume that everyone wore at the other studio last week."  Interesting.  I also notice pretty immediately that the familiar pear-shaped, spare-tire figures with whom I was comfortable, have been replaced with high school, collegiate, and newly engaged hard bodies with body fat percentages of negative 7.  "Shit," I think to myself. This is when my palms start to get sweaty, and I wonder if I should just sneak back out the door, drive to Barnes & Noble for an hour, read a few magazines, then douse myself in water to appear profusely sweaty before heading home. (Un)luckily for me, before I can finish contemplating my brilliant escape route, Senorita announces on her headset "Testing, testing?" and everyone in the class starts shouting almost Arabic sounding "Ay-ay-ay-ay-ay's" while excitedly clapping their hands above their heads and moving their hips seductively. (think Christina Aguilera's 'Genie in a Bottle' music video.)
The metal coins clank on their hip scarves, which intimidates me greatly, and before I can process any more, the music begins, and the door closes. "Yikes," I think to myself..."Apparently, I'm doing this."

The Zumba class that followed was unequivocally the most physically demanding, heart-beating-out-of-my-chest, I think I am going to pass out and/or die, hour of exercise I have ever endured. Period. (And this has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that I am out of shape; in my physical heyday, I experienced various dance classes, gymnastics, cardio-kickboxing, aerobics, etc... and I can honestly say that none even hold a match to this class.)  Tonight made last week's "Fumba" class ("fake Zumba" class, as it shall be referred to from this point on,) seem like Friday night knitting club at the retirement home-- no exaggeration. By 6:05 I was already begging the clock to tick faster; by 6:10 I was (again) looking for a way to escape. At 6:15 I started to panic, scoping out the women around me, deciding who would call 911 when I collapsed on the ground in full cardiac arrest.  By 6:19  I was hoping that someone knew CPR, and that the gym had defibrillation paddles on hand....(and that someone knew how to administer them!)  I spent the next several minutes lamenting the idea that I had no life insurance policy, no will, no "goodbye" letters to my children. I thought about the Will party that the neighbors & I had talked about and was kicking myself at this exact moment for not planning it. Right around 6:37, I began to believe that I was actually in hell, and this was my eternal punishment for doing something very naughty in life on Earth.  At 6:40ish, the instructor (who, interestingly, had not ONE drip of sweat on her body, wasn't out of breath whatsoever, and was still smiling while she happily shouted "Ay!!! Mas rapidos!!!!" into her headset microphone), was just making me angry.  NO human being that has endured forty minutes of this torture-- much less taught it-- should be this excitable and happy, I thought. That's just obnoxious. By ten minutes of 7,  I was hoping that Senorita had a date tonight and would release her Zumba prisoners a few minutes early, but alas we ended with the most difficult set of the night. By 7:02, Senorita spoke the sweetest seven words that had ever fallen on my ears: "Okay ladies, time to stretch it out."   This was the point at which the anger, the frustration, the despair, and the inadequacy all began to dissolve and turn into something much better: Pride. 

"Wow," I thought as I began to catch my breath, and stretched my arms with the group... "I am certainly one of the sweatiest people in here...the most out of breath....the most red in the face. I am a huffing, puffing, hot mess. My legs are physically trembling, my calves burn, my arms want to detach from my body and run away from me forever, and I still feel like I might thrown up in the parking lot-- But.... I did it...   I. DID. IT!  This body--which has been through 2 pregnancies, 2 rough c-section births, 1 impossible recovery, permanent back injuries, physical therapy, and a plethora of other adversities-- just successfully finished the whole hour of this class....Damn!"

Suddenly, the instructor didn't seem like the devil and I began to feel-- dare I say it, happy. I walked away from class tonight feeling so incredibly accomplished and proud; It would have been very easy to walk out halfway through the class and quit, but I stuck with it and I finished!   Yes, it was physically torturous at some (most) points, but if I could do it tonight, then every night hereafter will only feel better and get easier. I feel so glad to have found the ass-kicking that I so desperately  need, and in the fun form of traditional Latin dance moves paired with hardcore aerobic floor exercises. It certainly is a very intense hour of exercise, but I think it's exactly the change that's going to give me what I need: Results!  I almost feel blessed in a way that I didn't just assume that last week's "Fumba" class was the be-all and end-all of Zumba, and that I ventured out on a limb and found a real Zumba class. It's going to be an uphill battle to master this class, but when that day comes, it will be amazing.


So... in conclusion, if any of you are as insane as me, and, even after reading this are interested in subjecting yourselves to a ridiculously torturous, fast-paced, energy-packed, Latin flavored hour of calorie-burning madness, I will be attending every Wednesday & Saturday, and every other Friday. I may bitch and moan on my way out the door, but I can promise you I'll be there. See you then  :-)