Jest For Fun
I spotted the notice at a local bank and called the phone number. As luck would have it, class met that day. With two hours before the session, there was scant time to hem and haw, so I jumped in with both feet. Literally.
Thus, I signed up for Zumba, a “fitness party” that combines working out with the fun of dancing to a Latin beat. Thriving for over a decade, it was nevertheless new to us Baby Boomers who showed up.
Our size-one instructor wore a tank top clearly labeled “Zumba,” confirming that we neophytes were in the right room. She also slid over her nonexistent hips a belt with shiny bangles that jangled when she moved, which was most of the time.
I was not as fashionably dressed. Having tossed out workout gear in my 40s, I pulled on a pair of light colored jeans before hurrying to class. Peer ing around, I saw a sea of dark stretch pants and made a quick note to self: Next time wear black lycra.
Seven of us showed up in the gym. We could have spread out, but no one wanted to be in the front row. Thus, a huge gap formed between teacher and students. This, unlike the infomercial where everyone’s crammed on the dance floor. You’d see a lot of casualties if they let me loose on that set.
Our teacher showed us steps first, then played a song. I could follow along with the foot movements or the arm gyrations, but combining them led to problems. Our instructor must have noticed. “If you can’t do them at the same time, take your pick,” she said.
She proved to be an encouraging teacher. “You’re all lookin’ good!” she’d holler with a straight face.
In reality, I exhibited precious little coordination. I stomped when I should have stepped and stopped stock still at times to giggle at my lame attempts to keep up. But laughter burns calories, which only added to my workout.
“Mind if I take a group picture?” I asked the other students after class.
“Why did you wait till we’re all sweaty?” one replied.
“I didn’t know you an hour ago,” I said.
I left there feeling tired but strangely invigorated. And I plan to return till I master those dance steps. Then I’ll host my own “fitness party” – a party of one.