First thing’s first. I’ve got to get this off my chest. Good grief! The gym is truly a sexy place. I had no idea. I guess I knew on some level because sitcoms allude to the sexual energy in the gym. I’m not a gym person so I didn’t really understand how treadmills, heavy weights, sports bras, sweaty pecks, and those giant rubber bands all moving together at once could look like a slippery orgy. Maybe it’s just me. I must be a nasty pervert because I swear watching the Zumba instructor teach the class before mine by gyrating around, made my temperature rise a little. Even the grandmother waiting to take the same class as me was sexy. She may have looked like the girl in Little Miss Sunshine but she didn’t mind all of the skin baring slits in her tight sweats. You go grandma!
I wish I hadn’t worn the high water maroon sweat pants. They make me look like I need the fanny pack to match. And the Crocs…well let me explain. I had originally planned to go to dance class, where it is perfectly acceptable to wear socks. It was only when Ken, my colleague, suggested that we go to Zumba together that I changed my plans. I unfortunately didn’t have any sneakers to wear to the Washington Sports Club. One fabricated story and day pass later I was in.
From the beginning I couldn’t help but laugh. My laughter is like involuntary vomit that embarrasses me at times. This guy is going to teach our Zumba class? He has to be at least 70 years old! He is losing all the pepper to salt in his thinning hair. Ok, try not to be a jerk. Ken brought you all this way to Columbia Heights. At least attempt to participate. Are these the moves we’re doing? Grab the flowers, pretend to be a robot, raise the roof, booty shake, stiff salsa, pas de bourrée? After the first routine the aerobics teacher started sweating profusely. Ken and I helped out by correctly executing the routine which even the instructor forgot at various moments. I replaced the steps too ridiculous to be repeated with my own free style 1980s cabbage patch dance. I didn’t want to be disrespectful but I couldn’t help but continue to laugh throughout the entire class.
Towards the end Ken gave the cue, “Can we get out of here. This class is the worst.”
Before the /th/ sound could successfully part from his lips I started making my way through the crowd. I need to get to dance class. Zumba is not for me.