When I dropped in to the Sunday morning Zumba class at the Commonwealth Community Centre, I was really just avoiding the potential agony of trying a spin class. Spin being part of my cross-training plan for THE BIG RUN.
Zumba. I figured I’d make a go of it. “IT” being a wild party led by a hip hop Pippi Longstocking with a huge grin.
I was kicked out of ballet class as a child, and this reality came back to me awfully fast. Some degree of coordination is required in Zumba, after all. I managed the first two sets just fine, and had a blast. The remainder of the workout became a rollercoaster of flying feet and quick changes. My top half wasn’t in sync with my bottom half. My arm movements were a bit more like flailing T-Rex limbs than that of a sexy salsara.
The instructor, Anita, said that if we couldn’t follow along, just shake something. And that I did. Especially during Timber when I WAS a cowgirl in some bar, with, like, Pitbull.
What I liked most about this class was that it was pure chaos. I couldn’t keep up. People were everywhere. I never knew what was coming next. I did start watching the clock at one point because I didn’t know how much longer I could take not being in control.
Zumba could very well be the perfect cross training to help me deal with pre-race jitters. Being able to breathe through the mayhem until I catch my rhythm, feel the beat, and move to the music…shutting out everything else to get from start to finish. I’ll take it, dancing or racing.
In the mean time, I’m going to Google beginner’s Zumba on You Tube so I can bloody well practice my footwork in my bedroom. Sort of like a teenager.
Where did I put that copy of Tiger Beat?
Sigh – whatevs.