At our staff retreat last Wednesday, my entire department had to take time management surveys. One question was aimed at our health.
Fill in the blank:
I exercise when ______________.
My answer: I'm being graded in gym class.
Seriously, that's very accurate considering I can't even tell you the last time I broke a sweat on purpose. That is, until last Thursday.
Raise your hand if you've heard of Zumba.
Okay, well remind me never to use the old "raise your hand" device on my blog again, because it really isn't as effective as I had hoped.
Anyhow, Zumba is an aerobic workout inspired by Latin dance. If I knew any Latin dance moves, I'd probably have not sucked so incredibly badly at my first Zumba experience last Thursday. Okay, that's not true. It probably wouldn't have made a difference.
My friend Jess and I decided to crash a Zumba class at a local church--despite the fact that we both claim to hold the title for "most uncoordinated person ever."
As expected, hilarity ensued when we were the only first-timers there. When we were instructed to spin, I'd inevitably be the only one in the class spinning counter-clockwise. Every. Time. Jess' jaw dropped when she realized that there is in fact a living person more uncoordinated than she--and that person is me.
I think more humiliating than my performance was my appearance. What is it about work out clothes that make me revert back to my insecure flat-chested junior-high self? I felt about 14 years old in my purple tee and pink shorts. (Changing up the color palette at tonight's class, thankyouverymuch.)
Surrounded by beautiful, fit, young women, I felt more clumsy than ever. Why do they look so natural and seductive shaking and shimmying--and I look--epileptic?
Jess whispered to me, "How old do you think these girls are?"
I said, "undergrads, probably... but I'm sure they all think I'm in junior high."
"Probably," Jess giggled.