Zombie Zumba

I blame Katie for all my Zumba woes.  She teaches Zumba at the Y back in Dubuque -- funky, fun, heart rate-elevating classes that I LOVED.  I credit those classes for my ten-pound weight drop before the wedding.  (Well, that and starvation, but as far as exercise goes . . .)  So yeah, it’s natural that every Zumba class I’ve taken since then has been a letdown.

I signed up for a new class this week in my little town.  I don’t think I’m going to benefit physically from this one, but it was rather entertaining.  When the teacher resembles Al from Happy Days, you realize you’re probably not in for the fitness experience of a lifetime.  Here's the entertaining part, though -- if I had only one word to describe the teacher, it would be this: flamboyant.

We started out with an oldie for the warm-up.  We marched side to side, shaking our fingers at imaginary men, like, “Oh, no you di-int!!”  I was puzzled, because it wasn’t very Zumba-like.  It seemed like a routine he may have copied from that Richard Simmon’s classic, Sweating to the Oldies.  The third song was in Spanish, so I thought, hey, here we go.  But nope.  Next was a song by Britney Spears and then -- I kid you not -- “Fergalicous.”

I was laughing at this point, trying to be a good sport in this completely non-Zumba-esque Zumba class.  He didn’t have an iPod playlist, or even a CD with the music for the night on it.  He would walk over to his CD player after each song, put in a new CD, then play the first three measures of every song until he found a track he liked.  So much for keeping up that heart rate.

The highlight of the evening, though, was a song from the GLEE soundtrack.  Seriously.  GLEE.  In Zumba.  It was a mashup of “Off With Your Head” and “Thriller.”  The teacher was having the time of his life, dancing around.  We did the “Thriller” walk, which you would totally expect, but then probably two-thirds of the way through the song, he started doing this move than I wish I could have gotten on film for you, dear reader.  It was kind of a squatting, high-kneed walk, combined with arm moves that looked like you were brushing vines out of your way as you walked through the jungle.  Got the mental picture?  Good.  Now picture the flamboyant fat man doing this move as he yells, “Stomp over those dead zombies, ladies!”

I did.  I stomped right over those imaginary dead zombies.  Because you know what looks sillier than stomping over imaginary dead zombies?  Standing there, refusing to do it, while all the other women are stepping over imaginary dead zombies.

But the best part?  It’s in a school gym with no mirrors, so no women are seducing themselves during this one.  Small victories.