Zumba Make Me Laught-Out-Loud

I talked my daughter, Dani into going
to Zumba with me on Saturday.

I've been telling her how awesome it is,

how the music makes you want to

"move-it, move-it,"

how the time flies by

and the instructors are great.

She believed me.

That was BEFORE the class started.

I'd never been on Saturday mornings

I know I said I was going before but for whatever reason,

Saturdays had been too crazy during the school year.

Any-stinkin'-who,

We went on Saturday--

and there was a new Instructor,

Elody.

Who I am pretty sure is

on crack.

Think Zumba

on crack.

She wasn't really on crack--

she had about 8 to 10 other Zumba instructors

in the class--

(they all had Zumba! shirts on too!)

she was showing them her stuff.

I saw this,

and yet

I stayed.

The music cued up,

the instructor started "instructing"

and I use that term lightly--

she was a big honkin' show-off

is what she was--

and then I had a spiritual experience...

I started praying--

"Oh help me keep up,

Oh help me not die."--

and other assorted, varied pleas to

my Maker.

Fifteen minutes in it,

my face is blotchy red,

I am sweating like a stuck pig in Mississippi,

and guess what, chicken butt?

So is everyone else.

I look over at Dani--

who is fiercely trying to keep up with

this maniac instructor--

and she looked worse than when she was in labor
6 months ago.

I motioned for her to get a drink of water

with me...

she followed.

"You don't have to do everything she says,

just keep moving. We've already done 30, I mean 15 minutes."

I say to her.

Dani asks,

"I thought you said this was fun?"

Takes a drink and asks,

"You coming back?"

Of course I went back.

How could I not?

I went back to my "spot"--

and noticed two young teenage girls

behind me,

I turned to a little blonde gal

and said,
"I'm nearly 49 years old,

and I may pass out,

but don't worry--

my daughter is right there (pointing to Dani)

and she knows CPR."

The blondey smiled at me.

I went back to searching

for the salsa beat

for my feet to get in rhythm with--

and try as I might,

I couldn't make my body

move

like it was
on crack.

That's when it happened--

it was loud,

unrestrained

bordering hysterical--

laughter.

I couldn't hold it in--

this was insane!

How on earth did this instructor think

ANYONE

without professional training

could keep up with her??

Yet, there I was--

twisting

turning

rhumba-ing

cha-cha-ing

spinning

twirling

touching my nose with my tongue

speaking Zumba-ese

with the best of 'em

and it was ridiculous!

I laughed so hard,

I couldn't breathe.

Well, I couldn't breathe anyway,

but oh-my-hex

a funny bone was hit with a sledge hammer

and I couldn't help myself.

Of the 50 or so women in the room,

maybe 20 knew what they were doing--

the rest of us

were making up our own steps

modifying the crazed instructor's steps

in the name of

Survival!

No longer was I praying for relief--

I was looking around me for a soft place to land!

I was moving my bahooey

to a latin beat

wearin' brown sweats

and I started thinking I might make it

despite the evil instructor's effort to slay us all

with her bahooey-shakin' moves.

I was gonna live to tell the tale!
And you know you're a TRUE BLOGGER

when you're in this kind of situation

and start taking mental notes of just how

you're going to tell this story!

Anywayyyyy

A Shakira ballad

came on

and I knew the cool down was there.

There was a light at the end of the tunnel.

I had survived.

The paramedics were not called in--

there were no casualties Saturday at the YMCA.

We would all live another day to

Zumba.

Which for me,

is tonight at 7:30pm.

Bring It.

Psst: When I checked my Body Bugg stats I'd burned 1400 calories and over 4000 steps in one hour!!

The Old Woman Who Lived In A Shoe has nothing on this
mother of seven yahoos who blogs it all at Momza's House.