I have gone to a Zumba class before and was never really that interested in it, but once I learned I could burn 800 calories in a one hour session, my mind began imagining the burritos and cheeseburgers I could have for lunch if I went to this class.
My skinny friend Pajama Jeans (not her real name), typically does the Saturday morning Zumba class and always tries to get me to go, but each week I invent a new excuse for why I can’t go.
Last week I alleged I “slept through it” which meant I woke up, ate Lucky Charms, and waited for the class time to pass before I texted her to say it was too late.
I think she was on to me and my excuses though, as I’m pretty sure she knows I don’t have a prostate and it definitely wasn’t enlarged two weeks ago.
I arrived at the gym the same time she did, and we walked in together. She looked adorable in her tiny tank top and yoga pants and as we walked into the gym, I told myself I needed to find at least one fat friend.
I figured I would find someone I could cozy up to at the Zumba class. I like walking into the gym with Pajama Jeans because I feel like it gives me “street cred” at the gym.
We scanned in and headed downstairs for the class. Not good. My thighs were already on fire from the walk from the car and my legs felt like jelly as I tried to walk down the stairs without falling on my face, and without looking like I had a muscle disease.
My jelly legs made me think of jelly donuts and how many of them I could eat after the Zumba class, so I found the inner strength to make it down the steps.
At least I brushed my teeth and put on some lotion before arriving.
I saw an older woman who had to be at least 70 years old, so I decided to stand by her, both because I thought she wouldn’t make me look bad during the class, but also because I knew CPR and felt confident I could catch her when she inevitably peeled over from the exertion.
I had my place and I was ready to zumba!
Just then, the music started kicking in and the class began. It was loud Latin music and the bass was pumping. Everyone started moving and dancing to a routine that I was clearly supposed to know.
Um, was there a study session before this class?! Why did all these women know these dances? Fortunately, I was a dancer and a pommer in high school. Yeah, it was kind of a big deal to do both.
Because of my history of dance greatness, I was able to quickly pick up the moves. I kept my eye on granny to my left, just to make sure…
As I did the dances, I stayed focused on the instructor to ensure I was keeping pace and doing the moves correctly. I couldn’t help but notice the pants she was wearing had tassels on each butt cheek and tassels on the legs as well.
They moved and twirled when she did the steps which made me somewhat uncomfortable. I was already feeling strange about staring at her behind the whole time, and the dazzling tassels made me feel like I should tip her afterwards, or at least buy her a drink.
As I looked closer at her tassels, I realized that each one said “Zumba!” on them. I also noticed that her tank top also boasted “Zumba!” as well. Yes, with the exclamation points.
Now, I used to be an aerobics instructor in college and I can assure you that no one in the gym where I worked ever wore shirts that boasted “Aerobics!” or “Jazzercise!” on our breasts. It made me wonder why this woman felt inclined to do so.
Did she think that without this comment on her naughty parts I wouldn’t have a clue what she was doing? Did she have a t-shirt and pants for every single task she did in life?
When she cleaned the toilet did she wear pants and a t-shirt that said “Toilet Time!”? I hoped not.
I also noticed that frequently throughout the routines, the women would randomly yell out “Zumba!” together as a group. Again, was it to remind them what they were doing?
I decided the next time my trainer makes me do squats, I’m going to yell out “squats!” really loud during them…just to see if it gives me more motivation.
As we jiggled through the workouts, I noticed that all the routines were done to Latin music that sounded like something I would hear in a Mexican restaurant.
I immediately began to salivate at the thought of chips and salsa, and imagined myself in an air conditioned Mexican eatery with a frozen margarita and a bowl of guacamole.
Was anyone else getting thirsty for a cocktail? How could they not with the music? I could practically taste the melted cheese as I twisted my hips in circles around the floor.
I then looked over at granny to make sure she hadn’t gone into cardiac arrest. My daydream of chimichangas made me temporarily forget my sworn duty to protect granny from danger.
Much to my surprise, she was rocking it out and swaying her hips to the beat. She was actually making me look bad! I had to step it up.
I made it through the workout without any embarrassing moments, which for me, is a large victory with anything I do. As we walked out of the room, I was already imagining some fish tacos for lunch, at which point Pajama Jeans asked me if I wanted to go upstairs and do ab work.
Seriously?! Did we not just do an hour of sachets and hip moves? Why was she torturing me? I definitely needed to find a fat friend pronto.
I agreed to do some ab work, because clearly, I love to torture myself. We blasted our abs for a while and then we headed to our cars.
I was dreaming of a salty lunch and not really paying attention, so when Pajama Jeans asked me if I wanted to do another class the next day, without thinking, I replied that I would.
So, tomorrow I will be back at the gym for another round of Zumba where I might just yell out that word sporadically from time to time.
I’m planning on going tomorrow, of course, that is unless my testicular cancer starts acting up…