For the last two Saturdays, even though I have my spot in the VERY back of the class, I’ve had a clear view of the mirror. Good News: I really am getting the hang of both the foot work and the arm work.
Bad News: I look more ridiculous doing it right than I did, not having any idea what I was doing. I look like an old Italian version of the Michelin Man trying to dance Salsa at an Italian Wedding after someone spiked his Prosecco with LSD.
Notice the really short arms? Steven, the yoga instructor, calls these tyrannosaurus Rex arms. Combined with the blessing of overly tight shoulders, my arms look like a Republican throwing coins out the window of their car on the NJ jersey turnpike at the toll booth.
Good News: I have had a clear view of Dale, so I can really pay attention to the detail of the choreography.
Bad news: realizing I’m so fat, and that she’s so thin, her image, in front of me in the mirror, only covers my nose, the center of my chest, and the small space between my legs.
Bad/Good News: Like any good teacher, trainer, torturer, sadist, Dale keeps things fresh, interesting, changes the curriculum, and keeps some of the pain new, so you can’t develop a tolerance. Case in point, I like and respect a good low squat as much as anyone, for that good butt development, but (pun intended) Dale likes them while you are walking sideways, first one way and then the other, sometimes with a high kick at one end and then the other, until a nice searing pain, like barbed wire slicing through your glutes and quads is shooting straight to your brain.
Good news: reaching back to my bygone days of high school and college football game attendance, and relying on my recent yoga class attendance and spiritual development I have developed a cheer/mantra which I recite in my own mind which inspires me; motivates me, and gets me through these moments. It goes something like this: “you bitch”.
Bad News: The better shape I get into doing Zumba, the rate at which I can increase my pain and self torture increase at an exponential rate.
Good news: Apparently, unbeknownst to me, there is no limit to the number of times I can say the “f” bomb in my own mind, silently, or the manner in which I so think it, reflecting a wide variety of feelings and emotions and sentiments. There’s always the WTF?!, which has become so popular, closely followed with the loud, (in my own mind) quickly shouted version, which is closely related to the “holy” version, all often used at the end of a song. Then there’s the rapid fire version, like a machine gun. Or the up and down, lilting version. Or the God take me now version. Of the F me version. Or the I can’t breathe version. Or the F it version. or the F this version.
Good News: I wasn’t sure the first time I heard it, but she had it in her playlist again, so I’m POSITIVE now; Dale has stripper music in her Zumba playlist. YESSSSS!!!! (Good editing job though gurl….. )
Bad news – to the parents of the young girl from the other dance class who came RUSHING back there whooping and hollering and who gleefully joined in for this song only – in the immortal words of Chris Rock – you have failed at your only job as a parent and you are NOT gonna be happy at how she pays for college. Just sayin.
hmmmm, maybe after I try Pilates I could try a pole dancing class…..???????