I dedicate tonight, my first time with Zumba, to all of my previous Latin American students. (Wait. I think they are still Latin American, but previously my students.) Especially the ones who tried to teach me to dance. I spent a few nights at different clubs trying to salsa and merengue. I am sure there are a few other dances they tried to teach me as well. No matter how hard I tried and no matter how good looking my partner might be, my hips would not do the things I saw others do. I blame my parents and their parents and their parents.
I decided that I need to get off my butt and actually start moving again and the local gym offers Zumba twice a week with an open gym for my kids. My kids ran around and exercised while I tried to shake it. The wrong parts shook.
I have to admit I was laughing the whole time. It brought back so many memories of dance clubs and feeling like a complete idiot. This was even back when less of my body shook.
Right now I am listening to Ricky Martin’s latest album and thinking how much I would like to live La Vida Loca, but I’m not sure it is in the cards. I used to live above a pet store and between two of the more popular local bars. You need to remember that this was while I lived in PROVO, UT, so this was quite the scene. I went dancing in Salt Lake regularly and I danced like there was no tomorrow. I loved dancing. I did not enjoy smelling like cigarette smoke afterwards, but clean air acts have changed all that. I wonder what it would be like to go dancing again. I don’t think I would enjoy it as much.
There is something about being single, twenty, and in a dance club that makes it all fit perfectly. I remember driving the 45 minutes from Provo to Salt Lake with Tiffany after spending an hour getting ready. Getting ready for dancing was unlike getting ready for anything else. We wore shiny tops and twisted our hair every way possible. We wore dark eye makeup and dark lipstick and swore we would meet someone that night. Then we would go to the wrong dance club and end up being the only two girls there. We were poor, so once we entered a dance club, we stayed until 1 or 2 in the morning. Even in this highly depressurized situation, my hips would not shake it. It is just a sad sight when a man who obviously has no interest in you and who is dressed much better than you comes up to you and says, “Let me see if I can help you with that…” grabs your hips and tries to get them to move to the beat. After ten minutes, the follow-up reply was generally something like: “There is country dancing Wednesdays.”
Anyhow, I just had the time of my life reliving those weekends while trying to shake it once again. This time, however, I am not shaking it to attract others. I am shaking it to try to get everything that is shaking to disappear. Once again it is a depressurized situation. Maybe my hips have now matured enough to move like they should. If tonight is my guide however, maybe I should look into a country dancing exercise routine.