The Torture Begins

Just got back from my first ever Zumba class. Thankfully no scarlet letters or getting tied to a stake was involved. Yes, if you’ve never been, the rest of the class looks like those happy, healthy people you’ve seen on the infomercials dancing to a joyous, driving beat. I, on the other hand, looked like a cardiac patient playing Charades to the same music and my word was “epileptic seizure”. I realized the first two minutes even trying to learn the foot and handwork together was impossible so minute 3 -29 was focused on the footwork. Minutes 30- 32 was focused on the fact my heart wasn’t racing, there was no longer a discernible pulse, it was just one of those annoying hums like from an electrical appliance that’s not quite right. Minutes 32-38 were focused on handwork when I realized I was having an out of body experience. My mother taught hearing impaired children the last 20 years of her career and she learned sign language. Being Italian she spoke with her hands anyway. I always wondered what sign language would look like if my mother took speed and mushrooms at the same time. Zumba was it. Minutes 39 – 45 were spent thinking I’d not watched a clock this much since my first prostate exam. For the last 15 minutes I was grateful to be upright and conscious. Thanks Dale Ellison. Can’t wait to come back. Maybe for my next class of charades I’ll try “drunk on a electric fence”.

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