body & mind

(NOTE: This post was part of a previous domain and comments were not migrated over.) I should first say that I am not a workout-dvd-type person. I barely make it past the clear wrap on those bad boys (if I get that far… Sorry, Carmen Electra Strip Tease), because the very thought of spending an hour in my living room being instructed by some cheesy whoever has always made me want to STABMYEYESOUT. I’m also not a group workout person. Some folks live and breathe for group classes, but I’ve always been the happy solo exerciser. It really works out for the not-so-secret recluse in me – plus I have an issue with sweat. And it becomes an even less manageable issue if YOU can see me sweat. But I digress. 😉

All these things aside, I have developed A Problem: Zumbaitis. I am addicted to my Zumba DVD set. Considering the only other workout DVD I enjoy is Jane Fonda’s Complete Workout – and that’s because my mom would pop in the VHS and I would bounce along behind her doing things like The Pony and repeating the dvd gives me a fabulous sense of nostalgia – I was really wondering if I’d lost my mind spending EIGHTY DOLLARS on not ONE DVD of something I hadn’t even bothered to YouTube, but MANY. MANY DVDS.

keep calm and zumba on

I’m glad I did. I now find myself shoving Sean out the door on golf nights as a means to Zumba sooner. I have a complete girl crush on Tanya Beardsley and Googled her. I find reasons to bring up Cumbia in daily conversation.

“Oh, your coffee cup is right behind you. Let me get it for you. I’m good at twisting because I DO SOME TWISTING IN MY ZUMBA.”

Sean has caught – and snickered – at my salsa-ing my way to the shower. I hash-tagged Zumba in my Instagram… and find myself repeatedly checking it to see what OTHER people are labeling as Zumba. Like we’re all in some cool club with matching varsity jackets and nifty handshakes, if sweet jackets were the same as bad workout attire and nifty handshakes really meant merengue moves.

The neighbors even know that when my kitchen blinds shut, it’s because I’m about to Zumba Shuffle and they’re just not allowed to see that sheer awesomeness.

I even like to think I look like I am STEPPING IT TO THA STREETZ, when in reality, I most closely resemble someone having a seizure. In hot pants.

And does the ex-cheerleader in me secretly want neon halter tops, wrist bands and an excuse to roll up one pant leg?