Wednesday, June 6, 2012

Hip thrusters anonymous aka Zumba

If my blog was a newspaper, the headline would read the following: “Breaking News! This just in: Chubby girl eats entire pizza within a 24-hour time frame!”

Oh, and I’m not talking a personal size, little, sissy, mini pizza. I’m talking a whopper 8-slicer of a pizza – supreme at that. Yeah, that’s right. Not my finest moment. I share this because I’m not perfect (by no means). And I think it’s good to share moments of weakness with moments of success. Now on to my moment of success…

After a four day break from working out (a one day break turned into two…and then you know how it goes from there), I jumped back on the bandwagon. This, in itself is impressive for me because after I skip a few workouts, it usually turns into a few months of skipping several workouts. I had to somehow, in my warped mind, make up for the fact that I downed the entirety of a man-size pizza. (I guess that’s what happens when you ssshh those pizza cravings for several weeks.) 

Okay, back to the success story. 

In an effort to spruce up my workouts, or lack of workouts, I decided I would attempt another Zumba workout experience. You probably already know what Zumba is, but in case you have actually been sleeping during the wee hours in which nothing but infomercials are on, I’ll inform you. Zumba is a dance workout craze where even the most uncoordinated of individuals can’t resist trying it. I like to think of it as the Jazzercise of our decade. If each decade has a fitness craze stamped to its rear end, this decade’s end would be wearing some Zumba pants and ending it with a hip thrust. (More on Zumba pants later.) Zumba is dance. It’s movement. It’s a little salsa mixed with lots of suggestive hip thrusting that can make even the chubbiest of gals feel their inner sex goddess…if you can get past the sweat, that is.

After asking two different friends to attend (to which both graciously said no) I was off to the class all by my lonesome. Oh well. I decided awhile ago that this journey is my own. It’s no one else’s. Although sometimes I reserve the right to bitch about it anytime I want to. (: I had been to the Zumba class about a year ago and had fun, but had sort of forgotten what it was all about. I have to say that I was delighted that inside the mirror-laced workout room (eww!) I found a variety of women – chubby gals, like myself, two younger high-school cheerleaders with tans I envied (however, skin cancer I do not envy), some older ladies with hip thrusts that made me question their extra-curricular activities, moms that had probably carved out time between baseball games and cooking dinner - just to attend this hour long class, even a 12 year old boy who brought me great delight during the workout – because, I mean, dude had some killer dance moves, one older man – because there’s always that one shady, creeper-of-a-man who wants to be in an almost all-ladies workout class and, last but not least, normal ladies that looked like people you and I could laugh with over a high-calorie smoothie that we both assumed was nutritious.

So, cut to the actual workout. Not bad at all. I was glad I wasn’t the only newcomer. There were three girls who, like me, had obtained a coveted spot in the back of the class and were struggling picking up the dance moves as I was. But after a few rounds, the steps were fairly easy to pick up. My heart rate was up there. But, I didn’t feel the need to call 911 either, which is a good thing. Especially since I have no insurance coverage. Cuz I’m just a rebel like that. Like I mentioned before, there were several hip thrusts involved and lots of booty shakin’ – a lot of which you might see on a late-night BET music video. But, hey, like the song says, "shake what your momma gave ya" – or, in my case, didn’t give ya. The point is to have fun and not to worry about if you are doing something perfect or making an ass out of yourself. With the exception of one person (who was super-intense – think Denise Austin meets Richard Simmons on steroids), everyone there made mistakes. But everyone was having fun. And burning off some serious calories. Even the leader was tolerable. You know, because most aerobic instructors, with their fitness zeal and all, just make you want to roll your eyes sometimes. But this gal was actually cool. But, apparently the Zumba instructors have to wear these Zumba pants. They are kinda like black (or neon colored) wind suit pants with ribbons attached to them. I don’t understand them at all. But I do understand why everyone loves to Zumba. It’s fun. And for the most part, you don’t even realize you’re working out. So, yes, I will be attending Zumba class again.

P.S. And I will continue to make a valiant effort to not, under any circumstances, look at myself in the mirrors while working out. Unless you are Barbie, I offer the same suggestion to you…for your own mental well-being. Because no one should have to see themselves doing hip thrusts…ever. 

Happy hip thrusting,
Chubby Girl