Friday, April 13, 2012


I strive for thin hips.  How this one shirt I have hangs from me in a straight way instead of hinged, humped.  I like having curves as long as they do not dominate and take over.  I need my curves in check.  A child.

The chubby substitute Zumba instructor has left me.  Our regular teacher is back from whatever procedure she endured.  I still don’t know her name.  I knew the chubby teacher’s name but I pretended it was Cinnamon.  She looked like a Cinnamon.  I called her Cinnamon (in my head).

The regular teacher is rested.  It’s evident in her energy.  I’ve never dripped so much sweat in such a short span of time in my life.  Twice during the class I wondered/hoped if our instructor had been trained in CPR.  What the other ladies would do if I dropped.  How they would know who I was.  Nobody there knows who I am and I don’t know them.  For four months now, twice a week for two hours total they’ve sweated and danced beside me.  

There is a thing about space at Zumba.  Where everyone stands.  How they line up.  I have graduated from the back row to the middle of the class.  It was a self-promotion.  It was an unconscious thing.  The confidence in my moves pushing me forward maybe. 
I stand in the third row from the front which is the third row from the back.  These rows are not set in stone.  Sub-rows appear between them when the class gets too crowded.  Lots of women don’t know how to make a row, how to give people a reasonable amount of space.  They stand too close and chat waiting for the class to start oblivious to everyone getting situated around them.  I stand in my space.  They back up into me.  They move diagonal, sideways, forward.  Last night the lady beside me pointed to an empty space in front of them.  The place they were supposed to be and they moved into it without argument.  I was like, yes.

Some songs in Zumba have the word “Zumba” in them.  “Zumba! Zumba!”  Everytime a Zumba song plays I wonder if they were specially recorded for Zumba classes around the world or if Zumba is a word that means something like, “party” or “dance” or “joy” and is a frequent lyric in these Latin-based tunes I had no previous knowledge of.  “Zumba! Zumba!”  It’s often repeated in two’s. 

There is a certain move in Zumba I have deemed the, “My Uterus is Going to Fall Out of My Body” move.  It reminds me of the move all football players make in football movies where they have their feet just over shoulder-width apart, knees slightly bent and then they lift their feet up and down rapidly so their entire body is shaking like an overwrought washing machine during its heaviest cycle.  There are times when we have to do this move for extended periods of time and I can almost feel my uterus peeking through my vagina hole as I shake it into the world with Latin flair.  During this move I am compelled to reach with both hands and hold it closed.  I like my uterus inside my body and the gym floor is dirty.

The other move in Zumba that has always made me laugh is what I call the “sexy freestyle.”   It’s when we stop all motion, our bodies in a low almost-squat, and we grind our hips and move our arms in a sexy fashion.  Our teacher turns her head to the side, closes her eyes, rubs her body, her head, extends one arm up, looks like she is having a personal “moment.”  Everyone mimics her to varying degrees.  I feel I am the most un-sexy I have ever been during “sexy freestyle.” 

My favorite moves in Zumba are what I call “Shakira moves.”  Hips and belly-dancer arms.  Hips and belly-dancer arms.  I think I am good at the Shakira moves.  They make me think of Shakira and her honest hips.  I really put myself into the moves in a strong, committed way.  I think maybe I want to be Shakira. 

Zumba reveals all.



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