I was possessed yesterday. Possessed by the ghost of my former self. The self with boundless energy that stemmed from not only a passion for living, but a 90 pound thinner frame. For months now I have wanted to try Zumba. An exercise class that I had always described as Jazzercise being taught by Ricky Martin. Yesterday I got an opportunity to try it for free at a place called Team Quest in Oceanside, where a friend of mine was a guest instructor. I was SO JAZZED about this that I forgot myself. Forgot I was overweight. Forgot I was out of shape. I forgot it all. All I could focus on was how excited I was and how much this was going to rock!!
On the drive to the class, I was blasting music in my car and dancing in my seat. When we walked inside, I immediately began to dance. And strut. And pop and lock. And shake my booty. And do body rolls. And this was all while we were signing in!!
We walk over in front of the mirrors. Now I really take off. I'm pacing back and forth. Singing. Clapping my hands. Doing the thing where you extend both hands down in front of you, palms extended and jump up and down while sticking your butt out. You know what I'm talking about? Have I mentioned that at this point the class had still not started and there was no music playing? ...yeah.
Now it is finally time for business. The music starts. The students line up. We face the mirror and we take our first steps and swivel our first hips. I am going all out. Hitting every move. In my head I'm thinking "Ye-uh! Ye-uh! Uh! Uh! Uh! Get it! Get it! Get it get it get it get it!" Any TruBlood fans out there? Remember that scene right after Eric lets Lafayette drink his blood, and he feels so good that he starts running around humping the couch and freaking the fireplace saying "I feel like !@#ing dancing!" ? That was me.
Then half way through the opening song...all that hot mess caught up with my fat ass. Suddenly there was an elephant on my chest and I could not take deep breaths. Suddenly I noticed the sweat poring down my face. Suddenly I felt like I had taken a package of NyQuil and all the good sleep part of the drug was hitting. Suddenly my inner monologue sounded more like "Oh my sweet lord. What the hell were you thinking? You are fat and out of shape. You aint worked out in over a year! Lord make the pain end!" ...and then the first song ended.
About half way through the class, a terrible pain took over the left side of my back. Oh dear God. Am I so out of shape that I just threw my back out doing aerobics?? What in God's name? I could hardly stand up all the way. My movements got slower and less precise. I couldn't even recall which movement had caused this disaster to impend upon me. Half an hour later on the drive home I figured out it was just gas. REALLY?! Are you even kidding me? Taken out by a blocked fart?? (God I'm gross. Whatever. It's a blog baby, and I'm not holding back. You want the good the bad and the ugly? You come sit next to me. But not too close, because apparently Zumba makes me want to fart.)
So suddenly (but not suddenly enough) the class is over. Thank you Jesus...I'm not dead. But I am hot. And sweaty. And my word do I stink! Whatever I did, must have worked. I was standing in a pool of my own sweat, back hurting and smelling like a gym locker. On our way out of the class I see a scale and step on it.
Oh what the hell? I gained 4 pounds?!?