Is my left earlobe sweating?

       I went to my first zumba class last night. Actually it was the inaugural zumba class for any of the five YMCA's in my city. Apparently there was a shortage of qualified instructors, but now a zumba instructor school has opened up in Calgary and there are classes popping up everywhere.

      So my niece and I went to see what all the fuss was about. I am not sure what I was expecting. The description says: An invigorating class that involves dance moves set to a Latin moves that last 45 minutes. This class will get you moving and sweating to the Latin rhythm in an environment full of fun, energy and easy to follow choreography, regardless of fitness level. Now doesn't that sound like fun? Doesn't that sound easy?

     I should sue them for false advertising! Eh, to be truthful, if I was one of the skinny 20 year olds in the class I probably would have loved it. My niece loved it! But hauling my big arse around the floor was quite the challenge. I think I lost 20 pounds in sweat.

      It was good to start with the very first class, because the instructor showed us the steps in detail. At the beginning of the class we learned the merengue, the salsa, and the chacha, all dances that are fairly easy. I had hope; the class seemed to be living up to its fun description. Then we had to embellish the steps with hip sways and fancy arm movements, and that's where I got lost. I looked over and my niece was laughing hysterically at me. While everyone else was flowing and swaying through the moves with delicate, fluid motions akin to flowers moved by a gentle breeze, I was hammering the moves out with military precision. I was jolting my hips around like I was a hockey player in the Stanley Cup. And she had the nerve to think it was funny.

     We finished the first dance and I refrained from collapsing on the floor. My ever-wise niece looks at me as I stood doubled over and huffing and asks, "You feeling it yet?". Not able to speak, I grimaced out a smile and checked the time. Four minutes had gone by. I gurgled a little, but the next dance had started and people were starting to stare. Military presicion or not, I soldiered on. Ten minutes into it I realized the class description was a pack of lies meant to lure you into the torture chamber. This wasn't a fun dance class! This was.....horror of horrors...an aerobics class! We were doing similiar moves as those in the water aerobics class, but there was no water! As least with water aerobics you knew what you were getting into. Water. And aerobics. Nowhere in the description of zumba does it say anything about aerobics. And I am surprised I am surprised by this. What the heck was I expecting? Some Ricky Martin type character swinging me around the dance floor while Enrique Iglesias crooned from the corner....wait, that was a dream I had. Disregard. Ehem.

     The problem with it being the inaugural class was that there was alot of people standing outside the glass watching us, including other YMCA employees. A few times I thought they were going to come through the class to rescue me. But no, they let me suffer. The instructor did have mercy on us fatties and showed us some 'alternate steps' to some songs that were particularly quick. She said, "if the beat is too fast for you, go ahead and just point and tap, point and tap". I was sure I heard a collective sigh of relief from  the victims audience. Ha, I wasn't the only one struggling. We were all in this together. I know I heard a collective giggle at one point, and it wasn't aimed at me! We were flailing along to a song that had a 90 degree hop-turn in it, after which we were required to slap our butts and swing an imaginary lasso, while doing some provocative hip thrusts. All in fun, right? One young lady stops and asks, "what's the alternate move for this? Because it's just not appropriate." I admit, I joined in the giggle. And resisted the urge to tell her to go back to her church, she's missing the Harry Potter book burning scheduled for tonight.

     Eventually I hit the wall. I got this weird body shiver and I had to stop, my muscles got all confused and I couldn't process what the instructor wanted me to do. I checked the time: 29 minutes. Aha! So here is where working out on the elliptical for exactly 30 minutes was biting me in the arse. My body was like, yay, that's it, pack it in, we're done for the day...another successful wor....wait, what? We're not done? WHAT?

     My niece had edged closer and was looking at me with what she probably though was an encouraging smile....I  gave her my best grimace and tried to join in. After three minutes or so, my body stopped fighting me and I began flailing around again. And...miracles of miracles, I finished the class! 45 minutes! YAY!

     I felt pretty good about it. My first honest to god aerobics class in many, many years. And today, I still feel pretty good about it. A few sore muscles, but no lasting damage. My foot doesn't hurt any more than usual. I could actually keep up with all those aerobics-going skinny minnys. Will I go back? Probably. If only to be the amusement for my niece. And even if the instructor promised more new dance moves next week. I'm kind of curious what other latin dances I can ruin with military precision.

     And I guess I won't even sue.