JUST TO SEE WHAT ALL THE FUSS IS ABOUT
Having grown up on a farm, I always tended to “poo poo” going to the gym and actually paying for exercise. I always thought that being outdoors doing hard work was the natural way to stay healthy; that exercise should fit inextricably in with a busy active life. Since I have been off the farm for 38 years now, that is the number of years of denial this way of thinking has afforded me.
I'm not opposed to staying fit, I have just kept thinking that tomorrow I'll take a nice long walk, which I was doing with some regularity until I twisted my knee two winters ago. It's so easy to get out of the habit. So after seeing post after post from friends on facebook who are Zumba fans – no, Zumba maniacs – I wanted to see what all the fuss was about. It seemed that all the people who mentioned Zumba on facebook were also saying things like “isn't life beautiful” and “what a fresh morning”.
This morning I was determined to take the plunge after seeing a poster which for all intents and purposes could have been labeled “old lady Zumba”. I called the gym to inquire about just that, and found that my first class would be free. Great.
I would say the single biggest barrier (besides my butt) to going to the gym has been my lack of appropriate gym wear. Shorts require leg-shaving, and spandex is absolutely out of the question. That leaves me with sweat pants or pajamas. I almost aborted the mission this morning because I could not for the life of me find my sweats and my pajamas were too loud and Christmassy to wear in public. Finally, donned in sweatpants that I bought in college, a camp shirt from 1995 and sneakers that are at least as old as my children and whose insoles were eaten by the dog last year, I was ready to step out into Zumba world.
It was a small class, and I noticed that only 50% of the class was older than me, which makes me think that I was incorrect about the old lady part, or worse, I was in fact right on. I was horrified to see a huge mirror before me, but succeeded in keeping my eyes only on the instructor in it. If I stayed in the back I could be as uncoordinated as I liked until the whole class turned around putting me in the front. Fortunately that was not often.
So if my facebook posts start to be uplifting and airy and full of quotes about the beauty and wonders of life rather than how beaten down and old I feel, you can assume that I'm on the Zumba train.
