Hotter Than A Telenovela: How I Was Seduced by Zumba!
By seahagconfidential on November 22, 2012
While breakups often equal melodrama; it's not all tragedy. Hell, appetite loss alone kick started dropping the long relationship "comfort" weight I'd put on. When my depression diet had done all it could, I handled the rest the old fashioned way. Goodbye bonbons and soap operas; I got my buxom bum to the gym.
I became a regular in a weight training class taught by a no nonsense gay with boot camp demeanor. Though he sneered and chided us through our wimpy sputtering reps; I didn't mind his tough love approach. Exercise was meant to be difficult. No pain no gain as they say. Plus, getting critisized by a man who didn't want to have sex with me was not so unlike my defunct relationship. This felt right.
While I waited for the difficult session ahead, I amused myself watching (and feeling embarrassed for) the class which came before; a room full of uncoordinated, scarlet faced people gyrating somewhat lewdly to Latin music. As we serious weight lifters and our stern instructor replaced these drenched, smiling dancers, with mild disgust I witnessed departing students rush into a line to hug their sweat soaked teacher. Really? Blech! A bunch of star struck, smitten women hot for teacher. This was my take on Zumba and I wanted none of it.
But the next week, awake hours before my regular class and restless for the gym, sleep deprivation bested me, and I decided to check out this Zumba fuss first hand. No easy task I soon learned; requiring getting on a lengthy list, and braving a line of pushy women eager to claim dance floor territory. Gym personnel were given the formidable task of managing the unruly group; the threat of mutiny quit real in the growing pandemonium of rustling sweatpants, squeaking tennis shoe rubber, fake eyelashes, and bad perfume. As I was pushed from behind by a Chinese woman half my size and twice my age, I questioned my own sanity. But once the doors swung open, it was too late to turn back. These Zumbaholics charged, carrying me along in their wake.
Several arguments erupted in this tidal wave's aftermath, as groups of allied ladies fell into turf disputes. The Jets and the Sharks went on this way for a good ten minutes; and I was growing weary. Finally battles faught and won, we waited. When at long last Don Julio breezed through the door, he was met like a celebrity by the cheering crowd of eager dancers. My gawd! Was this an Usher concert, or an exercise class? He said nothing; simply put the music on and began to dance.
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