For as long as I can remember, exercise and I have had a patchy relationship. Sometimes we are as close as giggly grade school girls who can’t live without each other. Other times life gets in the way. We have better things to do and we don’t get together for months. When I was younger, this on and off relationship worked well. Back in the day, I could completely ignore my dear friend for months on end and then easily jump back on the proverbial horse, no harm -- no foul. But now when exercise and I do not rendezvous regularly, we grow deeply distant and find reconnecting awkward, uncomfortable and dare I say…dangerous. So it suddenly dawned on me, I have to make a change. I cannot treat exercise like a stranger and expect to keep up with the Kardashians. I have to make a commitment to make a commitment to exercise. Sadly, inertia does not age well. I have to come to grips with the fact that when I sit on my butt for long periods of time and then suddenly decide to ride 25 miles on my bike, I pay a steep price in cold packs, Advil and arnica.
So I went hunting for the perfect exercise… for me. I don’t have a sport I love. I don’t have an exercise that I haven’t grown tired of. My elliptical machine is in my friend’s garage now. This is after its stint in my bedroom as a comforter frame, and in my backyard as a solid place to lean garden tools. I had a very thick hula-hoop that was fun for a while. It had deep indentations and was supposed to help trim your waistline. It made my waist black and blue. It too, is now in my friend’s garage. I have an endless collection of walking tapes that I’ve marched to, and tried to stick with. The problem is listening to the same direction, the same jokes, the same music, with the same cuteness. makes me want to attack my television with a walking stick. This would burn a lot of calories, but I’m sure I would regret it. So where do I go from here? What will keep my interest, be athletically challenging, make me sweat and teach me moves like Beyoncé? Why Zumba, of course! 
Developed and marketed by 3 men named Alberto, Zumba is a dance experience that features “exotic rhythms set to high-energy Latin and international beats”. Zumba is a wild and crazy dancercise experience. While they make no claims of weight loss, it seems physically impossible to jump around like a banshee for an hour and not burn something. And all you have to do is follow the steps of your Zumba instructor, who in my case looks young enough to be my great granddaughter, and clearly has hip hopped since she was in vitro. This girl-child has moves that could make Jennifer Lopez weep. And she’s teaching them to ME!
In Zumba class they incorporate salsa, cumbia and reggaeton. No matter if you don’t know reggaeton from a kidney stone. Just think dance moves that call upon, strong arms, bent knees, tiny steps, fast changes, quick turns, fancy footwork, and my nemesis...drumroll please…rhythm.
I’ve always thought I had rhythm. In fact I walked around living like I had the stuff until the day I glanced at myself in the mirror at Zumba class. I decided to cut myself some slack, as I was just beginning and kindly told myself not focus on my image in the mirror. There is a steep learning curve getting in the Zumba groove. I willed my feet to move with a little more bounce than the usual “running through quicksand” beat I have mastered. Unfortunately, every now and then I would see the image of an older white woman, dancing like an older white woman. I felt really sorry for the poor gal until I realized it was ME. It was almost too hilarious to be true. Holy shit! I dance like Urkel. The only saving grace is I do not wear my Zumba pants hitched up just beneath my breasts. 
I decided to try another Zumba studio. This time I went with my friend, the one who has adopted my elliptical machine and uses it to prop up an old mattress in her garage. She and I took to opposite ends of the room. Unknowingly, I picked the best spot, right next to the fan. Our instructor started the class by turning off the lights and turning on little green laser strobes that could definitely give me a migraine if I let them. These lights caught the reflection of the tiny coins skirts that some of the class members wrapped around their hips. Some of the women had “Zumba sticks” that are really just 2 lb. weights that sound like maracas when you shake them. To be critical, I could say that the whole scene seemed ridiculous. To be truthful, I could say that I really wanted one of those skirts and a maraca.
And then we danced. We danced with wild abandon and annoying green laser lights. There was quite the mixture of women in the class. Most of them could shake their booties with real authority. Again, I was faced with keeping the rhythm of the beat and not looking like a complete dork when I did the move that has your fingers splayed and bent in front of your chest, like a Zumba gangster. Thank you Lord, for putting enough women in front of me so I could not see my reflection as I danced to infectious African rhythms, stomping, clapping, and turning on one foot as I raised the other out of what felt like a tub of concrete. And the fan! I have never loved an electrical appliance as I did the sixteen-inch floor fan with the swing angle regulator that blew cool air on my overheated self. All in all it was a Zumba blast…fun, healthy, very sweaty and aerobic.So Zumba and I are making a long-term promise to get together several times a week. I am pretty sure that I will never be able to shake certain parts of my body the way, say, Shakira can. But I am not going down without a fight. Exercise and I have once again reconnected.
In the words of Lady Gaga…
“Dance, dance, just, j-j-just”
OK, Lady. I shall dance, now and forever. I think I actually feel the rhythm now. It’s either that, or restless leg syndrome.
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