It's still exercise

I'm not a big fan of exercising. I just don't get the thrill or rush that other people get after a good run, or after a challenging circuit of strength training.

I like exercise that doesn't feel like work. It's like how kids like medicine that tastes like candy. Because they're tricked and they don't know it's medicine. I'd like to be tricked by exercise. In fact, I'd liked to be tricked into losing 10 pounds.

So after hearing all of the hoopla, hearing my cousin and aunt rave about it, and watching a fad take over an entire exercise nation, I jumped on the Zumba bandwagon.

'It's not even exercise!' and 'It's just dancing!' were my first thoughts. Zumba was right up my alley. I danced for 13 years growing up. I've been known to shake my booty on the dance floor at clubs until they turned the lights on and kicked us out. And, hey, this white girl's got rhythm.

But this girl was not as infatuated with Zumba as she thought she'd be.

First off, I signed up for a class at a local gym through the high school's adult ed program. When the instructor (more on her later) asked, "Is it anyone's first time?" I was the only person who raised my hand. You mean to tell me that these middle-aged women wearing too-tight spandex were Zumba pros? I was the new girl? I was the youngest person in the class.

Second, the hour was filled with a bunch of 4- or 5-minute Zumba songs, each having it's own choreographed dance that went along with it. And everyone knew the dance moves! These women who didn't know who Gwen Stefani was, were Zumba pros! I impressed myself by keeping up with the instructor. However, I was surrounded by the whitest group of dancers on earth.

Third, I think these women believed they were in a Zumba video. One woman, who when someone asked what a certain smell was replied, "Maybe it's my Love's Baby Soft"*, deliriously thought she was the instructor; instead of wearing normal workout clothes, she was wearing cargo pants and a rimmed hat, tilted to the side, Marky Mark-style.

The instructor was great. Energetic and funky. She genuinely had FUN teaching the class. She was totally into it, dressed head to toe in Zumba-logo gear, singing along to the songs and teaching us spanish along the way. But she had the biggest set of kabookies I've ever seen. Her girls were so large, that she has to wear some sort of a contraption-type sports bra that has METAL on the straps to hold it up. I stood directly behind her, which probably wasn't the best idea, because she'd turn around and come at me shimmy-ing, and my life would flash before my eyes. And God help me, if the reason for my demise on this planet was a set of Triple D's, we'd have an issue.

And even though we were dancing and having fun, I remember looking at the clock and thinking, "Ugh. I have 37 more minutes of this shit."

It still felt like exercise. And I didn't sweat half as much as those people in the commercials. Or the woman wearing cargo pants.

*I'm sorry, but Love's Baby Soft? I haven't worn that since I was 11. I didn't even know CVS still carried it.