2013-09-06_0819(Please excuse the smallness of above picture…I’m still learning the whole insert picture deal)

A women’s body is an ever fluid and changing thing. From one age to the next it’s something different, something new. At a certain age her metabolism will change. And if you’re anything like me you maybe missed that happening. I didn’t change my habits, in fact because I was generally in a good place they got worse. I ate more and unhealthily. I had a sedentary job that lead to being sedentary when not at work as well. My weight sky rocketed. I panicked. So I started running and trying to eat better. It worked. For a little while. Then it got boring and I needed to be pushed more. So of course after I stopped my body naturally continued on its downward spiral. Or outward spiral as the case may be.

So I’m at the point (again) where I know I need to change my habits. Mainly I need to be more active. So I did what any sane (I use this term loosely) logical grown woman would do. I decided to join a Zumba class and go with one of my more active friends. Yeah…this was going to end badly–I knew it! I was going to break something or worse, die. I may be four months shy of 30 but I seriously have the body of an overweight 80-year-old. This was just not going to be pretty.

So yesterday evening was my first class. I was all suited up in my best tennis shoes (complete with arch support for my plantar faciitis), sports bra and brightly colored tank top and shorts. I was game. I knew I was going to die, but at least it looked like a fun way to go. We get into the room that was reminiscent of the dance rooms I had been in as kid learning jazz. Wall long mirror and freezing cold temperatures. The instructor came in, covered in sweat from her previous class. She was all smiles and energy. Oh yeah, she was going to kill me, I could tell.

The music blasted on. Loud, beat heavy, the kind of music that had the sound system been better (as the instructor complained about numerous times throughout the class) we would have been able to feel the bass inside our bodies, making the water we’re made of dance. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up and we were off. Dancing, bouncing, all energy, all beat and lots of sensuality. Well this was actually a lot of fun. My body couldn’t quite remember how to dance but I totally had this. This is fun, exhausting but fun. Then about half way through my left calf and foot decided it was done. I slowed up, was more careful when leading with my left foot. I kept going, cause I could do it.

By the end of the class I was so exhausted I could have curled up in the corner and taken a nap right there. The room was no longer cold, in fact I was pouring sweat and the entire room seemed brighter. I had made it through. There was no death. Nothing was broken. I was looking forward to coming back next week. I marveled at our instructor who was still all smiles and energy. She promised it would get easier and I would get better. I smiled back. I believed her.

And now it’s the next morning. My body is sore. Understandably sore. But not as sore as I was prepared for. Maybe my body isn’t as old as I’ve felt it to be.

Is it next week yet? I’m excited and looking forward to Zumba!

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