I am NOT sexy. This was confirmed to me yesterday during my one hour attempt at doing sexy hip shakes, pelvic thrusts, and something that resembled a running man move that I probably did in 7th grade. I’m talking about Zumba. So many of you have mentioned it, and my friend Tracey convinced me that it was the best thing since sliced bread. She assured me that during this class I would actually sweat, trying to make up for the sorry excuse for yoga we took last week. The class was PACKED… great, all of these pros are going to see just how rusty my exercise chops are. And more than once the movements revealed my floppy, stretch mark ridden belly… yikes.
The instructor was straight out of cheerleading camp. I have never seen anyone as happy at 10 am as she was. I am not complaining though, had she not been so perky and smiley I probably could not have gotten through it. Now, let me start out by saying I took 13 years of dancing… THIRTEEN… you’d think that would carry through to my adulthood and I would still be able to follow some simple moves with grace. Hell no. There was no flow to my movements, and half the time I couldn’t even attempt the arms because that required WAY too much talent. Continuously comparing myself to the 8 million women, 20 years my elder, I knew it was hopeless. BUT…. It was a BLAST.
Jillian has some steep competition now, and once I get past the complete embarrassment that I will never look as hot doing these moves as I would have in high school, it’ll get even better. Heck, even the 3 60-year-old men were getting into it, why can’t I just let my inhibitions go and enjoy? I think with time I will, and someday, I hope to have the choreography memorized like all the pros.
But back to the point… seriously, I am SO not sexy. My hips just could not grasp going in a flowing, continuous motion. I definitely at some point felt that I resembled the 15 year old boys in the high school plays when we would start to learn our ensemble moves. Looking around constantly, doing broken up, irregular moves. The only thing that would have made me identical to the pubescent lads is if I had stuck my tongue out because I was concentrating so hard. Even though I was thoroughly embarrassed by my lack of style, it was so much fun. It was constant movement, endless sweating, and the results are soreness in muscles that Jillian or the treadmill had not focused on yet. Perfect.
I came home and proceeded to tell Dave how unsexy I am. His response? “Were you sexier than the 60 year old men doing it?” Me “I suppose” Dave: “Well, then you ARE sexy… it’s all relative.” Well put Dave.