rejuvenated

I arrived at my Zumba class several minutes late this morning and immediately thought I'd stumbled upon the wrong studio. Different teacher and movement to a fast beat, unlike the gentle warm up dances we normally begin with. It was like being snatched out of nursery and landed in senior school. No breaks in between dances to rehydrate ourselves from the water fountain, hardly enough time to tie a shoelace. Once I managed to breathe. It was great: zippy music to inspire the most unfit and ungainly of us.














I believe I smiled throughout the forty minute class, which could well be a record. Obviously I should spend more time dancing.













I suspect I was doing my own thing most of the way through but as we've been told, just keep moving. Every dance routine was new to me. Watching the instructress on a platform is helpful up to a point, but it's like a mirror image, which involves additional thought.

I realise now that keeping in time to the music is far more important and cool looking than being super trim and doing the exact steps - fortunately. Several glances in the mirror - yes, even I have an ego requiring nurturing - reassured me my hips still worked and that I didn't look too bad. A glance from side position was less affirming, but then I'd arrived within minutes of consuming a bowl of muesli and chopped up fruit.

















So I kept wiggling my hips with no indication of pending fractures or strains. Even my current shoulder rotator cuff injury wasn't a deterrent. And I perspired enough to know I was undoubtedly burning up calories. The music was so good I cobbled the instructress at the end of the class to get the names, convinced I will play these on my iPod when I pound away on my exercise bike this evening.














I have posted before about the difficulty of combining constructive thinking with Zumba dancing. I was wrong. Today I managed to think about character development. Could one of my main protagonists, a 62 year old woman, have a penchant for dancing? Perhaps I'll switch this characteristic over to her youngest daughter, but it's good to refrain from stereotypes. Why shouldn't an elderly Danish born hotel owner be a brilliant Latin American dancer? Why shouldn't I, for that matter?




Inspirationally yours

Jane