identity

Tonight I went to my first Zumba class. For those of you that don’t know what Zumba is, from what I could tell from the class, it’s a light dance class that is supposed to be aerobic. I doubt my heart rate ever hit aerobic levels this evening, but I can see how if I did it regularly and perhaps for two hours instead of one, it could be decent exercise.

One of the reasons I could tell I wasn’t working that hard was because I spent a fair amount of time thinking. And that means I wasn’t being forced to concentrate on a difficult workout.

A few thoughts wandered around my head included the idea that I wanted to go do some weight lifting after class. I like it when I feel the ache and pull in my muscles, and this class was not satisfying that craving.

Another thing that struck me was that I didn’t feel comfortable. Yes, it was my first class and the new dance steps occasionally caused me to bump into the person next to me, but it wasn’t that. The feeling was that this wasn’t my thing. It just didn’t click. The music was ridiculously auto-tuned and the moves were what stands these days for sexy, but I found them rather unappealing and awkward (boy does that sentence make me sound old. Ha!) I considered what it would take to get certified so that I could host a Punk and/or Metal Zumba class. Wouldn’t it be great to Zumba to Iron Maiden and Bad Brains? Throw in some Cranes and Pixies just for a change of pace?

I started to wonder what it was that didn’t ‘click’ for me and why. What is it about me that wasn’t drawn to this? And what defines me as the me that didn’t quite get that type of dance exercise? Was it that I don’t like poorly created music? Was it because of the ungainly movements? What about this Zumba class did I define as “not me?”

Seems a bit existential for a Zumba class.

I like that.

Maybe I’ll go again.

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