judge city

Zumba is a Shakira video turned up to eleven. My first actual attempt at this exercise craze was alone in my bedroom to a free online video. I was like, “Hey, why not? Let’s live a little!” Exactly three minutes into the video I felt like my instructor could see through my laptop screen at how badly I was doing. I yelled at her, “This is STUPID!” and shut it down and pretended it never happened.

Fast forward months later, living in a new apartment…that just so happens to be a few blocks from a Zumba studio. I’m still not sure how one attains a ‘bikini body,’ but I know the process doesn’t involve my usual night of eating cheesepuffs and watching RuPaul’s Drag Race. It was time to try Zumba again. This time, I was actually paying for it so I had to stay for the whole class. This time, I couldn’t just call my instructor “stupid” and run out of the room. Or could I?

People who truly know me, know that walking into social situations fills me with the fear that everyone is staring and laughing at me.  Naturally, when I walked into the Zumba studio I already felt self-conscious. Maybe I was overzealous in wearing a tank top? Was two sports bras excessive or not enough? I tried to remember what I learned about dance class from Black Swan and kept my arms crossed and avoided eye contact with everyone, which is pretty much body language for: “I’m not here to make friends” and “I had a horrible middle school experience.”

As people filtered in, I quickly realized I was getting trapped in the center of the studio. My desperate efforts to scooch to the back of the studio were thwarted by a group of friends, guarding their slacker positions in the last row. Reality set in. I was going to be Center Stage for my first real Zumba class. This was cruel.

The instructor, clad in full-on Step Up gear, glided in,  blasted techno salsa music and started thrashing. There was no, ‘And now we begin.’ To  my surprise, the class erupted into movement with her. Each new move signaled by  ‘HAH’s’ and tennis player grunts. And just like that, we were all full on Zumba-ing.

Miraculously, I was the only one watching other people to see if they watched me. No one really cared what I was doing because they were focusing on improving their skills.  I started to let go little by little. Fortunately, I went through a Flashdance stage in 8th grade (please nobody repeat that to anyone) so I was a hit with the 80’s inspired portion.

However, during the windmills, I began to feel my fatal mistake in forgetting  to pack my water bottle. Dehydration took a hold of my muscles. I glanced at myself mid-windmill and looked like a barbiturate-dosed, deranged Judy Garland. Note: do not look at your face during Zumba.

Even going full Garland was a lesson: completing the moves was actually way less awkward than not doing so. For example, when a dance called for us to ‘wind our bodies’ I let out a nervous laughter. This was an intimate move that so few people, including myself, have ever seen me do. But, the more I got into it, I didn’t look better, but I felt better. When you feel better you kind of don’t care what you look like.

Plus, I wasn’t totally alone in the awkwardness of gyrating in front of strangers. Others were hesitant too. Later on the class finally banded together and refused to do this one move our instructor performed that made her look as though she was humping an imaginary chair. She was cool with us hanging back for that, she seemed to understand that we were not DTAH (down to air hump) tonight.

By end of class, I just let it all hang out. I was feeling high! I was moving! I was grinding with air! I was freeee! Then I noticed the instructor laughing with a few girls in the back. One girl was holding her eye and I quickly realized that I might have smacked her in the face with my sweaty ponytail. But, like any socially awkward person, I didn’t look back to make sure. Pretty soon my ponytail was stuck to my back-sweat anyways, so, problem solved!

The class ended the way it began: quickly and with no discussion of what was going on. I walked home with zeal, pondering all the new things I learned and feeling like I got a decent core workout.

And then I was almost run over by an ice cream truck.

One minute you’re Zumba-ing and the next, you’re flattened by the happiest truck in the United States. Such is life. If nothing else, I learned that life is short so you might as well Zumba like nobody is watching. Because, really, no one is. But everyone sort of is at the same time? Just shake your booty best you can. And don’t text and cross the street.

P.S. If I did get hit by the ice cream truck but just got injured, would it be better to be paid in a cash settlement or an ice cream settlement?