Experiment: Zumba

Of the few trends I've fallen prey to (pagers, myspace, pixie hair), Zumba has definitely been the most unexpected. I know it's not by any means a new trend, but I'd never even heard of it before a few months ago when my Beehive girls expressed interest in doing it for a class activity. I just thought it was something weird 13-year-olds were up to. Like tamagotchis or something.

Outside of soccer, I'm not an "aerobics class" kind of gal. I like my exercise like I like my charming Star Wars smugglers. Solo.
 Badum-ching.

So what inspired me to Zumba? (That can be used as a verb, right?) Who knows. Cabin fever? More likely because it was one of the classes offered through my mini-gym membership.

Maybe if you're here you already know about it or have tried it. Maybe you watch So You Think You Can Dance. But I'm guessing many of you don't know anything about it. And you really should know.

I want to tell you about it, really I do. I want to write a long DFW-inspired essay all about the hip-shakin, booty-makin craze that's sweeping mountain America. How weird and comfortable it is.

But the thing is, I'm too tired. Zumba is exhausting. It's taken the skip out of my step, while putting it back in.

Instead, I exhort you to read Alison's entertaining post. I've had a similarly strange and wonderful experience as my copywriter friend. I sort of fell in love.

Maybe it's because I was obsessed with Latin America for a few years in college. Maybe it's because I grew up in the most dance-party-friendly social circle in the Midwest. Maybe it's because I speak in made-up Spanish to myself at times.

More likely though it's because Zumba, though new news, is actually old news. Turns out, what the world calls "zumba" I call just a regular ol'late-night kitchen dance. I've been doing it for years.