Zumba is a stupid amount of fun.
Here’s what has happened to me: I WANT to exercise.
When I think about it real hard, I’m still kind of in shock.
But I go exercise, and even though I’m spending like 10 hours a week I would’ve told you I don’t have a month ago doing the Zumba thing, I have more time.
I’m not 55 yet, but I think this is probably a relevant study.
I was looking for this post by Julianna Baggott where she says if you’re stuck with writing, get up and get sweaty. I can’t find the post. Her blog doesn’t have a search button. She should get one. But go read it. She’s a brilliant writer and a warm, generous, lovely human being.
Anyway, I don’t want give her total credit for really deciding to be a working out person, but I’d be lying if I said her say-so had nothing to do with it. Reading that was really the first time it occurred to me that my brain could be addled by my sedentary lifestyle. I like my brain. It’s my best body part. I want it to work well.
Zumba delivers: when I wake up, my brain seems to be without those queer ridges that mangle my ability to put one thought before another.
Whenever I go to Zumba in the morning, I return more focused and aware and able to push myself through task after task. Whenever I feel like my body is going to literally stop moving during a Zumba class, I keep moving and sweat some more and the feeling passes, and it Still. Feels. Great. (Even though it hurts. This psychology-of-an-exercisey-person is a little nuts.)
I have more patience toward Child, and I find the pile of things to do that I put on my own plate to look more like a bowl of doable and less like a rock mountain I’ll never reach the top of.
Yes. I have achy muscles. I imagine I will for some time to come. I am at least 60 lbs overweight. I have some kind of neurosis about weighing myself, so I don’t actually know what I weigh. I know the range, based on the fit of my pants, but I should probably address that.
I’m also pretty sure I have a mild case of shin splints.
But a smaller amount of food makes me full.
And my wiggle jiggles less. Going up a flight of stairs doesn’t get me all doubled-over-winded, and it doesn’t hurt as much. Also, I’m pretty sure my waistline has descended by one inch. And this is after only three solid weeks.
I want to go to Zumba every day. I have to make myself take 2 days off. I hear that’s a good idea.
So what I’m saying is that if you’re telling yourself that it’s time to start exercising, and you are–as I was–someone who never previously engaged in non-vocational physical exertion with any regularity, I recommend the hell out of Zumba.
Tis the season to hold yourself to dubious standards.
Fa la la la, la la la la.