Zumba? Maybe with a twist…

I have no zum in my ba.

I just finished my second Zumba class, and as much as I’d love to look and move like my instructors, I’m pretty sure I never will.

The music is great, the mood is upbeat, an hour flies by quick, and you barely realize you are working out until you are covered in sweat.  Sounds great.  But I am terrible at it.  Really, really awful.  My spine is stiff and my feet are heavy.  I go left when everyone else goes right.  When I finally find enough rhythm to join in on the claps, it is too late and I am the only one still clapping.  I miss entire steps trying to pop my hip or shimmy my tush.  And that whole hoochie-coochie, boob shaking, pelvic thrust thing, well, I just can’t do it.  I am J-Hy – the opposite of J-Lo.

About half way through the second class, I started to recognize some of the moves, and was pretty sure I’d done them before.  I had, but never sober.  With enough wine, Shorty gets low.  But sober, I am 100 percent vanilla, no flava’, no spice.  I would seriously have a couple of margaritas before the next class if it didn’t mean potentially puking on my daughter’s first grade teacher.  Yeah, did I mention that I was attempting those dirty dance moves in the presence of the beloved Mrs. B?  Worse, she was a lot better than I was.

When my favorite Flo-Rid-A song came on, I decided to just go for it.  I stopped trying to match every little twitch of my instructor’s hips and instead just moved with the music.  I decided I didn’t need alcohol to get my groove on, I just needed to relax and have fun.  I imagined I was dancing with friends at a hot club in Vegas.  I even put my hands in the air, rolled my shoulders and did a little snake action with my spine.   For a minute, I believed I had all the right moves.

I was wrong.  One unfortunate glance at the wall of mirrors revealed I was just another flabby mom stumbling around in a second-rate strip mall, with absolutely no zum in my ba.   Next time, I’ll try it with salt and a twist of lime.