One, two, three, four

My altered schedule this week has affected my workout routine in ways I didn't expect. Because I didn't need to be home before dinnertime to help out with the kids, I stayed at work on Monday until past quitting time. By the time I got to the gym, the dressing room was filled with coworkers of mine getting ready for their exercise class. "You should come!" they enthused. So I did.

The class was Zumba. Now, if you're a woman of college age or beyond, you probably know that Zumba is an aerobic dance kinda thing influenced by Latin styles. Or so I gather from having been to all three of the classes offered this week.

It's not that I'm any good at dancing, especially dancing that requires galloping and relatively rapid footwork and lots of hippy swirling and sashaying. It's that it was really hard. After the first class, I was a little sore in the thighs. After the second, I ached every time I got out of a chair. And by the time I showed up at the third two days later, my feet felt like they needed a session with a reflexologist.

My last exercise class was at least five years ago; I don't recall having been to one since Cady Gray was born. And it was probably step. I'm sure you readers on the progressive coasts are wondering why we're still doing Zumba here in flyover country, but for me, this was like going from rotary to the iPhone in one giant half-decade step.

I didn't look good trying to swivel my hips to salsa-tinged R&B. It was sobering watching the co-eds around me demonstrating their effortless rhythm. But I had a lot of fun. If I recover fast enough, I'll take advantage of one more week of late afternoon free time and try to learn a few more steps.