Exercise classes are not for everyone, and I am learning that not every exercise class is for every one.
Let’s take this week for example.
I tried a new Zumba class. Now, I am not a natural at Zumba, but at my weekly class I manage to stumble through with a mix of co-ordination and enthusiasm. I don’t imagine Strictly Come Dancing with be calling anytime soon, but I enjoy my hour of dancing on down to Olly Muirs and Madonna on a weekly basis. Hence why I thought I’d try a second class.
Turns out , each Zumba teacher is different, and my new class was so far out of my comfort zone I felt like a Hippo trying to swim with swans.
Within minutes I knew I had made a mistake and this class was not for me. The music was pure Latino the steps involved a co-ordination that my two left feet were simply unable to comprehend. My level of self embarrassment was at an all time high, so much so that I felt an attack of vertigo coming on.
I planned to escape as soon as the teachers back was turned. It was nothing personal, I was just way out of my dancing league. But all plans were scuppered when my lithe instructor clocked me at the back and bellowed…
“First time? Welcome!”
Internally I died a little, she was lovely, how could I leave.? Plus we had exchanged eye contact so leaving would simply be rude.
So I did what any self respecting, uncoordinated, British Zumba wannabe would do in this situation.
I made the best of it.
I threw myself into it as if I had injected an infusion of gin and tequila and convinced myself I was capable of moves Kylie would applaud.
My rational was, ‘it couldn’t get any worse.”
My rational was wrong.
Four tracks in, after shaking my ass at least fourteen different ways, it got worse.
“Let’s partner up, zuuuummmmmbbaaaa.” Cried the teacher.
Oh god, oh god, oh god, went my internal embarrassment radar. The closest girl to me was a dazzling brunette, twenty years younger and beautifully toned. And we had to shake our ass together, whilst holding hands. My ass looked like it could knock her ass right out of the room and into the locker room without even breaking a sweat.
At this point I thought, again, it can’t get any worse.
Two more tracks on, we were encouraged to partner up again, and I found myself thrust back into the arms of my much younger, slimmer, friend. I caught sight of us in the mirror as we twirled in a horrific partnership. My reflection showed the truth, this girl was so small and I was so big, if I had opened my mouth to call out’ Arriba’ she could have fallen in and never be seen again.
Really, could it get any worse?
A surreptitious glance at the clock confirmed there were only ten minutes left to endure before freedom was mine, with this in mind I decided to unleash my inhibitions and really give it all I had.
I was a Zumba goddess, I was a Latino lady, I was a dynamic dancer. I leapt forward for three and jumped back in time, wiggling my ass, thrusting my hips and grinning like an insane woman.
“And repeat, zuuummmmbbbbaaaaa,” cried the teacher.
My arms shot up above my head, waving with passion, I stepped forward for three, then jumped backwards whilst pulling in my core and clenching my butt.
I jumped backwards, once, twice and then..
I crashed into the wall at the back of the class and went down like a sack of spuds. My ankle splayed out at a right angle, my back dragged down the wall, instead of crying ‘arriba’ I shrieked a long, loud, wail of pain, just as the track ended.
The teacher looked at me, “but you have done this before you say?”
My mortification was complete, it didn’t get any worse. I officially hit exercise rock bottom.
The moral of the story? Choose your classes with care and never presume to think things can’t get any worse….
…They always can!