Umm Round is a Shape

Once, when I was in high school, I made the grave mistake of telling a dear friend of mine that dancing, in fact, is not a sport. Being a dancer herself, she [of course] was horribly wounded by my careless statement, although I didn't exactly mean it as negatively as it came out. It's just when I think of sports, dance isn't exactly the first thing that pops into my head. I think of sweating buckets, chasing after balls, sprinting, beating the competition, etc.

Dancing, to me, shouldn't be considered a sport, because [really] it's more of an art form. I mean, right? Now, I know dancers work very very hard and are in better shape than I ever hope to be. But dance [for me] was just too pretty, too frilly, too girly.

Well, I recant.

Over the weekend, I decided that being round is not an acceptable "shape" to be in, and something needed to change. I've sadly let myself be super lazy since the marathon in April, and well, let's just say there's more of me to love nowadays.

So last night, I eagerly went with a friend of mine to a free Zumba class offered at the Norman Pioneer Library. I took my place in the back of the dingy classroom and promptly began jumping around with fifteen large middle-aged women appropriately clad in XL tee shirts and sweats.

The ultimate prima ballerinas, yes?

Our instructor, an extremely fit blonde, told us at the beginning that we were going to sweat. A lot. Inwardly, I scoffed.

"Yeah, yeah. This will be cake."

We all diligently watched her as she danced in front of us, trying to mimic her steps. It was hilarious and awkward. I looked around the room to see if everyone else was getting it, or I was just the class klutz. Thankfully, all of us were a little, well, not so graceful. Some were better than others, granted. But in general, we were all tripping over our feet, or spinning in the wrong direction at some point.

For the next hour, we were jumping/twisting/throwing elbows/kicking/and doing some kind of walk that made you look like you had to crap your pants. It was a blast. And the blonde wasn't lying, I did sweat. Quite a bit. It was almost as though I had just gone for a five-mile run, just a little less sore.

I just couldn't get over how much fun it was.

I felt like a dancer, granted a really really bad one, but still. For someone who didn't come shooting of her mother already wearing a tutu, I felt like I was getting my dancing fix.

And ya know what?

I felt athletic, not frou-frou and pretty.

Now running will always be my first love,

but who doesn't want to twirl around like a fool everyone and a while,

dancing your lumpy, frumpy buns off?