The triumphant return to......EXERCISE.
I went to an exercise class a couple of weeks ago. A Zumba class, in my town hall, one evening after work. No big deal.

I
warned the ridiculously energetic instructor when I first got there
and paid my £5, I have had operations. I haven't exercised in a long
time. Then I assured her that these operations would not affect my
movement and I'm not at any risk. I would just be slower. I'd stay in
the back, behind everyone else, keeping to myself and not alerting
anyone to my hideous unfitness and appalling rhythm.
I
don't know what I was expecting. I really don't. I'd just decided that
morning that I'd go. I wanted to give myself a chance. I wanted to
test out my body, feel a buzz maybe, push myself more than I have in
ages. Like, my only form of exercise these days is walking. Running
up stairs at work or in tube stations. Shelving stacks of books (more
of a workout than you'd think). Yeah, that's about it.
I
used to do Zumba, around the time I started uni. I loved it. It was
the perfect workout for me – dancing madly, no strict moves,
squatting a lot and kicking and punching and twirling. It was
essentially sassy aerobics. I knew it would be tough going back, but
I also knew I'd rekindle that old love. For the exercise, for my
body, for me.
These
were my thoughts in chronological order during the first class...
- I'll wait out here, until the music starts, maybe. Like, I'll rush in and just stay at the back. I don't want to be hovering, waiting to start. I don't know anyone...
- It's actually good that I don't know anyone, I suppose. Nobody will chat with me and I won't feel self-conscious. I can focus on me. Yeah.
- Oh wait, I know her. And her. They're lovely. I'll say hi.
- Yay, we're standing together! Okay, this is actually nice. Zumba at uni was like this, when my friend taught and the rest of us danced like ACTUALLY CRAZY and laughing the whole way through. It's a good social sport.
- Is it a sport? It's a form of exercise.
- I vaguely remember dancing to this one – it's Beyonce, nice. I swear I did this set of moves way back when. Easy to remember. Good, good...
- Ouch, I think my legs have realised what's happening. They're not happy.
- People always say my legs are crazy strong. They are – my upper body can barely stand ANY weight, and I can't lift a thing most days, but my legs are powerful af. Just right now they are livid @ me.
- Wow, my body is AWAAAAKE.
- I forgot how much I sweat when I exert myself. I always have – cross country at school I was constantly stopping for breathers and drinks because I was bright red and puffing hard. Same as right now, tbh. We're only 2 songs in!
- My butt is sweaty. Like, the small of my back, just above my butt. I hope nobody can see sweat patches.
- Oh wait, I'm at the back and EVERYONE ELSE IS PROBABLY SWEATING FFS.
- Probably not as much as me, but yeah. Sweat happens.
- HAHA, that song I just wanna make you sweat is the next track. Hysterical. It's like Snoop knew.
- This song is supposed to go I just wanna make you wet, isn't it?!
- Nobody is looking at me. Why was I worried about that? Of course they're not! It's so cool, everyone's wrapped up in their own thing. Everyone's working hard on themselves and making sure they nail every move. Nobody . Is . Looking . At . Me.
- Whoa, the mythical exercise high is kicking in, I swear. I feel FLAWLESS.
- Fuck yeah, body. You got this. SWIVEL, KICK, JAZZ HANDS.
- SWEET DAMN I LOVE ME.
- I LOVE THIS SONG TOO, OMG OMG I REMEMBER THIS ROUTINE.
- C'mon, Grace. Sass, sass, sass. Squat harder. Punch higher. Push yourself. Slay.
- I'M A SURVIVOR *punch* I'M NOT GON' GIVE UP *punch* I'M NOT GON' BLAH BLAH *punch* I'M GON' WORK HARDER!!! *punch**punch*
- Wow, now my arms KILL. Will this move tone me up? It hurts so bad, even though it's just rotating and stuff. Aeroplane movements, spinning...
- I AM GONNA DO THIS EVERY WEEK OMG IT FEELS SO GOOD.
- SERIOUSLY WOW.
- Stretching now, must be nearly over. That went quick. But I'm glad, I was just starting to hurt.
- That's an understatement. I HURT EVERYWHERE.
- The instructor just complimented me. Aww. She must assume my operations I mentioned were on my appendix or something minor. Ha!
- Holy shit. Good work, body. Let's drive home. *pats self on butt*
I've
decided that next pay day I'll be spending my spendable
portion on
body lovin' things. No, not those things, you filthy scuzzies. I mean
I'll book in an upper body massage perhaps (my arms were
CLICK-CLICK-CLICKING as I punched the air during the class), get my legs waxed,
research my local salons for a really good (and preferably super
affordable) hairdresser, buy more work AND casual clothes...I'll
treat myself and my body. Because it's earned it.
So
yes, this class, this epic return to Zumba'ing, was a triumph. I will
hopefully continue with it – and maybe another class here and
there, but not too many because, shit, it costs a fair bit of
dolla...
I've
said it before and I'll say it again: love your damn body. Treat it
like the awesome source of life it is – remember it contains all
your bits and bobs, your ticker and your breathers, your booze sponge
and thought box. Don't abuse it. Lecture over. Let's hug.
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