I feel as if there was some sort of manuscript I should have read before I did a Zumba video. By ” did ” I mean I danced to the fullest extent my Mommy body would allow. I um, I made it fifteen minutes.
I would like to discuss with you a few ” hazards ” with women working out for the first time. Especially after giving birth. I thought my C-section was a life changer, but tonight… tonight I drink red wine in silence. I am no longer the woman I was an hour ago. She’s gone now. She has been tortured with boob sweat and thigh chaffing. God rest her soul.
I typed in Zumba video’s on YouTube and I chose the first one that popped up, because the internet is always right. In my old goodwill t shirt and gym shorts from 7th grade, I stood on the white carpet in the living room and pressed play.
” First we are gonna march in place. I want you to feel the rhythm”
I began marching, but all I could feel was the taco salad from dinner an hour prior to this new dance move. She instructed me to MARCH HIGHER, so I did. I’m not in the Army you guys. Marching to no where was hard. My knees started trying to buckle the higher I marched. I didn’t know I had arthritis , but apparently I do.
I didn’t wear a bra because my boobs are pretty much non existent, but what I DO have is sort of tube sockish flesh. That meatless flesh started to become painful the more I marched. As if all the marching wasn’t hard enough , I am pretty positive that if I lived in Europe I wouldn’t have gotten a black eye from the tube sock breast smacking me in the face. You know , in Europe Mom’s with a certain number of children get a free boob job. I bet they’re really good a Zumba too.
The lady instructing it totally had a nice boob job. Which is fine, you know. I want one. I bet all these YouTube videos paid for them. She worked hard for that perk.
Some things happened that I wasn’t expecting, the more I followed her instructions. With all the uncoordinated moves and sweat on my part, I started thinking not so highly of myself. I became fussy , and felt like a T Rex trying to do the Whip. My arms aren’t made for all this swinging left to right. I have a problem following left to right moves. I never know which left is not the right, and which right is the right. It’s too hard.
Fifteen minutes in I kept waiting for the wine break.
” Good job girls, go get a water bottle, and enjoy some cheese and Merlot. We will meet back whenever you feel like it.”
Nothing. Not even a water break. So I made one myself.
Watching the girls on the video basically pole dancing with no pole, I sat myself down and chugged a whole freaking bottle of water. I think I sweated out more than my body even like makes a day. It was only a responsible choice to re-hydrate myself.
Next was the front thrusting. I couldn’t thrust like her, that whore… because I’ve had a C section. My scar gets sensitive, and if I could thrust like that, I could quit my day job. Lets me real here. Writing doesn’t pay that much. But thrusting.
No one told me that my bladder would rebel against me. Those thrusts and grape vines had me all thinking about ordering a box of Depends on Amazon. I am not getting those at Target, the staff knows me. I can’t.
Mental note to also order Epsom salts. All that movement could trigger hemorrhoids. That’s why I felt sexy.
” Babe. Turn the volume up, how are you going to get into this without hearing it? You won’t get pumped without all the music.”
The husband said.
” It took me AN HOUR to get them to sleep. I am not risking waking them.
( Still thrusting, not breathing. Turning purple. Writing my will. Thinking of my wine cellar. Meeting Jesus in the living room)
I made him go away, because I knew inside his head he was weirdly turned on, and also disgusted at my hairy arm pits that I haven’t had a chance to shave , because three kids live with me. Bathe with me. Razors are dangerous.
In those fifteen minutes the Zumba lady took my self esteem, and turned my muscles into Jello. Speaking of Jello, strawberry is my favorite. I love it with whipped cream on top.
I bet Zumba lady doesn’t eat that. That’s why she’s so Zumba.
I am trying to get my stomach and other problem areas ” toned”. You know, so I don’t juggle running after my toddler who just pooped IN the pool. I like to think that I am in shape, but I’m not.
I’m really just a big ball of Merlot and water, mixed in with a blonde chick and a some birthin hips.
As far as working out again, I mean I will. But only in the privacy of my own home. And only wearing a training bra. And only if there is wine at the end.
I may not be able to move tomorrow, which is fine. My Nanny that doesn’t exist should be there to bring me coffee and teach my children bible verses. Especially the ones about taking care of our temples that are called our bodies.