So, a few months ago, I started working out on Monday with my friend Eddie Money. Eddie Money was in the process of losing about 75 pounds and we both liked the idea of going to the gym on Monday nights and keeping each other motivated. Last week, as we passed one of the fitness classes on our way to the locker-room room, I jokingly suggested we try one of the classes, like Hula-Hooping or Zumba. You know, for shits and giggles.
As I was sitting at my desk working this afternoon, I got the following e-mail:
Are we on for this evening?
7-8 pm- Cardihoop
7:30-8:30pm- KitchenSink (sounds intimdating to me!)
What do you think?
We both had the same thought: this would be funny. I looked at the description of Kitchen Sink, and it said (I'm paraphrasing here) "We do everything but the kitchen sink." I had visions of wild dogs chasing us around the gym while a sadistic instructor made us hoist medicine balls or something. No thank you. CardioHoop was too early for us, so we settled on Zumba.
As we were eating dinner, The Wife and I were talking about the class:
The Wife: I want to take a Zumba class.
Me: You should take one.
The Wife: Why are you guys taking a Zumba class?
Me: I don't know, it's at the right time. And it should be funny.
The Wife: Are you going to do all the dance moves?
Me: Come again?
The Wife: You know it's like a Latin dance class, right?
This will be good.
Eddie Money picked me up at 7:45 and we drove to the JCC for the class. We assumed that we would be the only two guys in the class, but a few people were milling around outside the room (dance studio) and Eddie Money saw a guy he knows. The guy assured us that the Zumba instructor Elyse was really nice, very helpful and easy to follow. He told us that it might take a little bit of time to learn the moves but that it wasn't that hard. As we were talking, a woman decked out in Zumba gear walked by and said hi to the guy. As it turned out, she was subbing for Elyse. Ok, no problem.
Eddie Money and I made our way into the room, took our place in the back and started to stretch. We were standing next to those bars on the wall that ballerinas use:
Eddie Money: You going to put your leg up on that?
Me: (snorting) No. I could, but I'm not going to.
You know those scenes from movies where someone is expecting a nice teacher and a horrible, mean one shows up? Or a wicked stepmother? THAT'S who was teaching this class. I mean, she was pretty and was smiling, but she was TOUGH. The class started and we were able to keep up (a little). I kept looking over at Eddie Money and we were trying not to laugh. But then it got faster. The instructor, Kaydian, kept looking back at me as if she was giving me a heads-up as to what was coming. I was watching her but half the time I couldn't even figure out what she was doing.
We were five minutes into the class and already, my knees were hurting and I was winded. The next song started and it was in Spanish. I could only make out a few words, which I think were cabeza, abuela and queso, but I'm pretty sure the singer was trying to let me know that his grandmother's voice was in his head and she was laughing at me for eating too much cheese (which is weird becaue I barely eat cheese, and it's not very nice of his grandmother). It's a good thing we were in the back because as the pace picked up, I started moving in the wrong direction half the time. The instructor had great rythym and when she moved it was sexy. Me and Eddie Money? Not so much. Although, on the bright side, the music was so loud that I was able to fart wthout worrying about anyone hearing it (though I was constantly worried I was going to shit my pants and forever be known as "That Guys Who Shit His Pants in Zumba Class"). I couldn't believe how uncoordinated I was half the time. I was usually able to do the moves with my arms or my legs, but not both.
The next song was also in Spanish but all I could understand was Colombia, Brazil, Mexico, Guatemala, Argentina, Puerto Rico and the Dominican. I can only assume that the song was about how they use Zumba to torture political prisoners, or rival drug lords, in those countries. Then she played te Shakira song that was the anthem for the World Cup in South Africa, but all I could think of was the version that we heard non-stop for hours on our LONG trip back home from Vermont a few years ago. At one point, she made us make two circles, with a smaller one on the inside. It was painfully obvious every single time I moved in th wrong direction. The instructor kept making eye contact with me and smiling, and I couldn't tell if she was thinking how hot I was and wondering what I would be like in bed or if she was plotting my rythmic death through dance. Near the end of the class she played Gangnam Style, and I silently cursed Psy's name (though on the bright side, I now SORT of know how to do the Gangnam Style dance).
When she mercifully ended the class, Eddie Money and I, winded, walked up to the instructor:
Me: So, would you say that that was more of an advanced Zumba class or more of a beginner's class. That was more advanced, right?
Instructor: What do YOU think?
Me: I don't know, don't ask me. I thought it was hard.
Instructor: There's no levels in Zumba, just Zumba.
Me: Yes, but was this harder than usual?
Instructor: Well, this was probably about medium. Medium to easier.
(I should note that about half the class, including the Zumba-holic Eddie Money knew, left the class before it ended because of instructor's speed).
Eddie Money: Are we the two most uncoordinated white guys you've ever seen in your class?
Instructor: No, actually, you guys did really well for your first time.
I knew it, she TOTALLY wanted me.
I literally would've paid money to watch video of us in class, but thankfully, no video exists. Maybe next time we'll try international folk dancing with the old people, if I'm not still sore.
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