Dear Women in my Zumba Class,
I see you.
You, the one in the front who has OBVIOUSLY been doing this for a while. You know all the moves. You even look pretty good with your dancing. You’re the one I follow because I know that even if you don’t look SUPER cool, you won’t steer me wrong between right and left…
You, the one next to me. You’re exhausted. I am, too. You know the moves, but you can’t even move your lead feet anymore to stomp out the rhythm. And everytime the song is over, you throw your hands at the front of the room and walk away like you’re going to leave but you settle on a sip of water and some curse words near the back of the room. I feel you.
You. You’re at least 70. You have no idea what “the crunk” is or what the bleeped words in all the songs are. You swing your hips and you shake it like a rumpshaker and you don’t apologize for a single second of it. I love you.
You. You’re 19. You think you’re in a club. You can do all the moves and you add your own flair. Look, we’re all very happy for you and your youngness. That’s just great. No belly-fat. Beautiful tight skin. Excellent control of your hips. Do us a favor. Stand near the back row so we don’t have to watch you do duck lips in the mirror while you twerk. Thanks.
You, the one with no idea what is going on. Right means left and left means right to you. You kick when we’re squatting and you punch when we’re all leaving because the class is over now. You’re darling and you’re trying and I support you 100%. Try to get near the corner of the room, though, because we’re tired enough doing the dance moves let alone trying to avoid your cyclone of a body.
You, the one who literally makes up her own dance for the entire hour of class, I salute you. The instructions are always: do what you can do and when you can’t keep up, just keep moving. You move every part of your body simultaneously while smiling and it’s AWESOME. I love watching you when I’m lost during a dance move because you give me permission to use all 8 of my spider legs to attempt to salsa.
I salute each and every one of you for being here, for moving your bodies, for taking care of yourselves. We are all in this together, ladies.
Except for you, 19-year-old. You’re making us feel bad about ourselves.