Everybody sweats: camaraderie in Zumba class
I think Meghan Trainor said it best: “It’s pretty clear I ain’t no size two, but I can shake it like I’m supposed to do.”
I’m certainly no stranger to dancing in front of the mirror to my favorite songs, but this week I figured it was time to take things to the next level with a Zumba class.
I’d been looking forward to getting my groove on most of the day, but my gung-ho attitude faltered when I felt a twinge of pain in the back of my right leg on the way to the Wellness Center.
“Oh god,” I thought to myself, “I pulled a muscle just walking to the gym.”
Things did not get better. As I sat in the back of the studio stretching my calves, I watched girl after girl walk in. They all seemed to know each other, and after a moment of observing the various huddles of chit chat, I came to the sobering realization that I was the heaviest person in the room.
I remembered the last time I’d gone to Zumba almost two years ago, when I had to stop multiple times mid-dance to wheeze and wipe the sweat out of my eyes.
I thought very seriously about casually leaving, going home and laying down in a fetal position. But it was too late. The instructor was welcoming everyone and starting the music.
The first song was “All About That Bass” and I thought, “My anthem! I dance to this all the time.” Oh, but not like this.
Luckily I’d been too awkward to stand anywhere but in the very back of the room, so no one was likely to notice me stumbling to keep up with the choreography. There is also quite a bit more twerking in Zumba than I remember. I shudder to think what might have been witnessed had I been more daring.
About 20 minutes in, my lungs were burning and my ponytail was sticking to the back of my neck. In a break between songs, I stepped back to take a swig from my water bottle and looked around. I was almost surprised to see that everyone else was as winded as I was.
The back row had filled out with people who were built a little more like me and shared my wide-eyed “What have I gotten myself into” expression. The appeal of group fitness classes suddenly occurred to me, and I was all the more encouraged to swivel my hips like my life depended on it.
Did I watch the clock and distract myself from my exhaustion by calculating how many more songs we could fit into the 50-minute class? Yes. Was climbing the stairs to my apartment after all was said and done a challenge? Oh, absolutely. But my mood by the end of Zumba class was much better than at the beginning, and it was a great way to blow off some steam and forget about my other stresses for a little while.
The benefits were worth collapsing into bed with a few sore muscles, and let me tell you — plain, Verm-tap water never tasted so good.
