ZUMBAFIED

Saturday. Eyes open. Mind in gear. Today is the day. It's ZUMBA time!

Feet in the shoes, legs in the pants, shake in the blender, butt out the door.

Usual ambitious crowd, Sally so and so with her brand new work out gear looking bright and spandex-y. Betty Boop sporting her jazz sneakers. Some old dude who is trying hard to bring sexy back and of course, Miss "Z" herself. Petite, spunky and rearing to go. Too bad she has to steer this ship of misfits. Man, she has her work cut out.

Tip: you best get there early to claim your piece of real estate because the competition is fierce. Oh, you want the well-lit spot by the side door? Don't think so. Step aside sistah, I'm bigger and I need fast access to an exit in case of an emergency. Arms out, do the old "personal space" check in vain, because its about to get violated anyway. Grunts and groans fill the air as crowd stretches off last night's pizza binge. Bad idea.....and then you hear that spicy beat.

Why is it called a warm up? I'm ALWAYS warm. Here we go...hello giant mirrored wall mocking my every move. Fancy seeing you here. Right, left, right, right, left. Arms this way, butt that way and feet this way.....huh? Forget it, I'll just follow Betty Boop in front of me. Bad idea, those jazz shoes are tripping her up and her Fosse is looking funky. I'm on my own, but I'll give it everything I've got. A white girl with a Brazilian dream.

Two high powered, tempo driven, salsa inspired songs into it and we're on our way to svelte bodies in no time.

Not so fast. Remember old dude? Well try as he may, its just not happening and with every uncoordinated boop of his bop, I am suddenly sucked into his awkward vortex. Shoot, now, I'm completely off beat and believe me, I was on it, (whatever, you weren't there) Over to my right, Sally so and so is keeping up. Wow, she's pretty good. I'm impressed. But, as the tempo changes, the truth is revealed and her flailing humanity is left bare and vulnerable on the mean floor. Electrified octopus, need I say more. Am I to feel bad about taking pride in my slightly less spazy skills? No. It's every fool for himself out here.

With every glance pulling me in the wrong direction, my only choice is to face forward and glue my gaze to Ms. "Z" herself, she's my only hope. The more I watch, the more I transform. Suddenly, I'm back in the gyrating game. I'm not this very white, VERY sweaty, very red in the face flailing failure. No, I'm moving, I'm shaking, I'm getting it done. One foot in front of the other, swiveling my body like a well seasoned Rockette. Look out Shakira, because this towns got a new set of hips. Moving, shaking, and all the while NOT bumping into Pro.

Oh, wait? I didn't mention her? You mean I left out my fiery, rhythmic, Puerto Rican, Zumba partner? Let's just say she's got it in the bag. She's packing heat in her feet and pep in her step and man, can she get down! We are quite the pair, let me tell you. So what if I don't have the quick step down or that my salsa moves resemble a desperate person putting out a fire with their bare feet. I am in it to win it and she's got my back.

It's been a fun stride and might I add, it's one thing to shake it when your center of gravity isn't being impaired by a bunch of junk-in-yo-trunk, so for little Miss thang who was positioned right behind me, watch out, I'm about to get my Zumba on!