About 18 months ago I decided to join a gym. It was actually part of the county parks district, and they offered a daily drop in rate, a month-at-a-time rate and an annual rate. I know how I am about gyms, so I only purchased one month.
It’s a good thing, too, because I think I went to the gym three times that month. I got bored by the machines and the tiny workspace, and I eventually stopped going, and luckily I was only out the money paid for that one month.
One of the things that interested me about the place was that on the nights I was working out after work, a bunch of women would come pouring out of one of the larger rooms. They were all sweaty and laughing. Sometimes I would see them through the windows, dancing like a bunch of spandex-clad goddesses.
The I heard the magic word: Zumba.
The Zumba class was included in the monthly fee, but I was intimidated by these sweaty, glowing women. Even the instructor looked tired at the end of the class, so how could I ever handle it?
I never did it then, but I hear about it everywhere. Last week I convinced a couple of friends to come with me to try it out. I even had a small windfall at a breakfast meeting (I won a 50/50 drawing) and so I paid for our trial lesson – no one was out any money.
We loved it. Well, I did. The other girls say they did, but I’m the only one who has been wrestling with the idea of going back again.
It was fun, it made me feel sexy and capable. The working out I’ve done over the past 7 months really helped with my stamina, and the hour just flew by. Suddenly I was a sweaty, smiling mess, sashaying out to my car.
So I committed: I paid for a month, which entitles me to two yoga classes (another something I want to try) per week, three Zumba classes per week, and use of the gym anytime I want for 30 days.
Let’s see if I use it more than three times. Tonight is Zumba!