Editors are super annoying. Take Ryan Miller, for example. He just loves to take me out of my comfort zone and then make me write about it. It’s like some sick hobby of his.
Case in point: Zumba. Or, as I like to call it, butt shaking set to music. When Ryan heard that I hate dancing, have no rhythm, and really didn’t want to take an exercise class, he told me to try Zumba. Typical.
Of course, in the end, I liked it, which is also typical. (I have such a bad attitude.)
First, let me describe Zumba to you. If an aerobics class and a salsa lesson got together for a night of passion, Zumba would be their love child.
This idea of a salsa/aerobics love child wasn’t all horrible to me. I like the idea of salsa dancing, and even once tried to convince my boyfriend Anthony to take a class with me. Long story short: He said no.
So salsa is okay. It’s exercise classes that I have a problem with. If someone tells me to kick twice, then once in the other direction, and move my hands in a counterclockwise motion at the same time, a little voice in my head tends to ask, “What’s my motivation?”
“Your thighs,” said my co-worker, Jen, when I said the same thing to her the other day.
Well, I’m sorry, but my thighs aren’t enough of a motivation for me. Perhaps if they were, I would have smaller thighs. As it is, I need something else to get me to burn calories. Like the threat of a soul-crushing defeat of some sort, tempered with the promise of great victory. You know, team sports.
Tell me to hit a ball, or make a basket, or even run a mile to win, and I’ll do it. Throw my hands in the air in repetitive motions to burn calories? Not so much.
But, as I mentioned—and as is the case with many things I write about—the joke was on me. Zumba was actually pretty fun. There was more dancing mixed in here than with most exercise classes, I would imagine, and so there were only a few moments when I thought to myself, “Why am I walking two steps forward, lifting my knee, walking two steps backward, lifting my other knee, and then jumping in the air?”
Still, that’s a good question.
Also, according to Zumba instructor Denise Farmer, I really started to pick up on some of the dance moves about halfway through the class. I believe her exact words were, “You are the best new student I’ve ever had.”
No, just kidding. She actually said, “By mid-point, you were actually moving to the music.” This is in contrast to moving against the music, which is what Anthony claims that I do every time we dance. So that’s an improvement.
Mid-point through the class was also around the same time that my photog Amy Asman packed up and left, thereby missing most of my awesomeness. For illustrations for this story, I picked two photos that show the amount of intense concentration I gave to the class. Just look at that expression on my face. It’s like bewilderment, mixed with amazement, mixed with hard work. (The amazement was directed at Farmer, who made butt shaking look as easy as breathing.)
On the bright side, Amy’s early departure also means that she missed most of my major butt-shaking moves, as well as the memorable shimmying—which, by the way, seems pointless to me, since an entire industry is built on keeping those particular body parts still during exercise. Why shake them on purpose during an exercise class? But that’s just me.
I would recommend Zumba to friends interested in a new workout routine. I don’t know if I would go back, but that shouldn’t reflect poorly on Farmer or her company, Healthy Inspirations in Nipomo. I’m just more of an exercise-without-mirrors-in-front-of-me kind of person.
Sports Editor Sarah E. Thien’s editor is going to send her square dancing. Contact her at sthien@santamariasun.com.
This article appears in Oct 16-23, 2008.