Back to the Gym

I’m woefully behind in my commitment to take (at least) 50 Fitness classes during my fiftieth year.  Life and my schedule have interfered and as a result I now have the muscle tone, flexibility and aerobic endurance of an overweight octogenarian.

This is a wee bit mortifying for someone who used to teach fitness classes professionally. 

 Okay, that was a few years ago and curtailed by a hip injury -- but still.  I’ve gone from teaching eight fitness classes a week (body sculpting, step, Pilates, yoga and circuit training) to being an erstwhile couch potato.

Being a gym rat doesn’t work for me.  I’ve tried.  Oscillating between elliptical, weight training machines, treadmill and free weights bore me to tears.  I have to force myself to the gym every time -- then force myself through the regime.

In contrast, I find fitness classes fun, social and highly motivating.  I like having a regularly scheduled fitness appointment.

So what’s the problem, then?  Why not just sign up for a class or two?  Alas, I’m a stickler for commitment. I won’t register for a class unless I know I can be there for the duration.  This year, my schedule is unsettled.  Either I’ve missed the deadlines to sign up...or I doubt I can make a commitment to be there for the full eight weeks.

The solution materialized yesterday.  The gym where I tried (and failed) to work out now offers classes that sounded interesting.  Zumba, for example.  I didn’t know what Zumba was, exactly, but I expected it to involve Latin music and choreography of some sort.  I enjoy choreography.  It requires brain power than makes me forget I’m exercising.

Full of mad resolve, I headed to the gym, destination:  Zumba.  I went early, actually, to catch the yoga class beforehand. I figured it would behoove me to stretch my carcass for the first time since my brief brush with Bikram (sweatbox) yoga in December. 

The hatha yoga class was a perfect re-entry into fitness.  Sedate and gentle.  It was so relaxing, in fact, that the guy beside me fell asleep and was snoring through the ‘death pose’ that concluded the class. 

Thankfully, the instructor picked that moment to burst into song.  Yes, song.  She serenaded us with a tune deftly performed in Urdu or possibly Sanskrit -- what I hope was a prayer or blessing, but really it could have been a Nepalese commercial for McDonalds, for all I know.  Whatever it was, it was lovely.

There were ten minutes between classes, so I shlepped to the machines and dutifully filled the interval with as many reps as I could muster.  It’s so not my thing...but better to fill the ten minutes with some gym-related activity, given my location.

Before the Zumba class began, I introduced myself to the instructor.

            “First timer,” I said, pointing at myself.  “What do I need to know about Zumba?”

            “Oh just watch me and have fun with it,” she said, wiggling her hips.  “Bring your own flava.”

            “Flava.  Ah,” I said.  “I’ll be in the back of the room and taking breaks when I need to.”

The music commenced and the class snapped into action.  In unison and with no verbal instruction, they snapped their heads to the right and left and commenced a series of isolations.  A typical warm up sequence.

            “Ah so it is like a dance class,” I said happily as I followed their lead.

The next song was a 1980’s classic dance tune...aptly heralding the next sequence of moves.  Moves reminiscent of those old time aerobics classes of the Jane Fonda workout/ headband/leg warmer era.

            “This is like right out of a 1980’s Jazzercise class,” I thought.  “Is this was Zumba is?  The  Jazzercize of the 2010’s?”

It was a blast from the past but a fun one.  You know how you can hear a song you haven’t heard in decades yet somehow recall all the lyrics?  Apparently, it’s the same with dance moves.  My body perked right up and followed right along as if it had done this choreography just yesterday.

Turns out this was another warm-up element.  When the third song commenced, it was, at last, time to Zumba.

Zumba, it turns out, is basically Latin dance moves with a dash of hip hop and a soupcon of bellydancing. Basically, it was a really fun dance class and I was in hog heaven.  It felt so damn good to MOVE.  I merengued and salsa’d and shimmied with my own version of 'flava'.  I shook my middle age carcass like no-one was watching. 

Before I knew it, the hour was up.  I was elated with the experience.  It felt more like a frolic than 'exercise'.  This was exactly the kind of class I’d been yearning to find...and even better, this is an ongoing class that occurs every Monday and Wednesday.  I don’t have to sign up for anything -- just show up when I’m in town. 

 
I’ll be showing up!  Zumba will be a fun and wonderful way to meet my commitment to participate in (at least) 50 Fitness Classes this year.