As we writers know all too well, the act of writing — novels, blog posts, journaling, whatever else — is not often done on a treadmill, or on a yoga mat, or in a pool. Perhaps that will change some day, but for now? It’s pretty much a sedentary thing.
Therefore, to counteract all the chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream (with dark chocolate syrup) I’ve eaten lately¹, I’ve been trying new things. These new things include Misery (step + abs), Torture Upon Torture (pilates), and That Which Hurts My Nose More Than My Body (Latin Heat/Zumba dance class).
Today, I shall focus on That Which Hurts My Nose More Than My Body class. Here’s what I learned in my first (not-completely-dreadful) attempt at it:
Lesson #1: I am a white, white girl. Don’t let the freckles fool you, folks — I am a white girl by nature, and if there are two things white girls don’t do well, they are rapping and…well, rapping. I was going to say dancing, too, but I’m not sure it’s 100% true. Many white girls are blessed with the ability to move to music in a way that is appealing (versus stilted and awkward). I am not one of them. On a related note, don’t expect a rapping/dancing rendition of TLC’s “Waterfalls” from me any time in the near future. (There goes that dream…)
Lesson #2: For some reason, skeezy guys think it’s okay to take video of zumba class on their iPhones, awkward white girls and all. And what’s worse, the skeezy guys with the videophones? Were totally in league with staff members of my gym, two of which had the audacity to stand there and re-watch the video over and over again. And laugh. Can’t say I blame them, but still. I don’t know about you, but I kind of expect to go to gym class with relative safety².
Lesson #3: There’s a good chance every inhale will feel as though an entire plate of beef enchiladas has sneaked its way into your lungs. I mean this in the nicest way possible, but everywhere I turned smelled like a Mexican restaurant. This makes sense, given that it’s a class called Latin Heat/Zumba — and if you’re a vibrant Latina vixen (like me!)(ha.) with awesome dance skillz, why wouldn’t you come to show off, you know? Anyway, the smell. I don’t know why it was there, but it was. Overwhelmingly. It’s a wonderful, wonderful aroma, don’t get me wrong — when I’m hungry for those incredible soft chicken tacos with the habanero sauce³ — but when I’m working out, breathing deeply, and generally trying to stay focused on the dance steps while ignoring the skeezy guys with their iPhones? Um. Not my idea of fresh air.
Lesson #4: It was awesome! Despite the awkwardness, the skeeziness, and the suffocation, it turned out to be a pretty fun experience. I made it through the whole class (not very gracefully, but whatever). Plus, it made me sore in a good way, and it’s WAY better than the boring old treadmill. I will be going back.
Okay, that’s all I’ve learned so far. Now, I’m off to get ready for Misery class, which starts in half an hour. Pray for my abs.
¹Which, to my credit, is not an obscene amount. It’s a nice, healthy (inasmuch as ice cream can be healthy) amount, and not something I indulge in too terribly often, but those things add up when you sit all day.
²(i.e. assurance that skeezy dudes with iPhones are not going to be focusing their cameras on my lackluster attempts toward fitness and coordination)
³Yet another reason I’m trying the class in the first place…