Zumba.

Allright folks, I hate to break it to you, but if you had plans to hang out with my friend Becky this weekend and watch Center Stage, then you're just going to have to get your own copy because I actually survived Zumba.  I may have been close to passing out repeatedly, and maybe I almost puked in my mouth a little, but I lasted the whole hour and I walked out by myself (as opposed to being carried out on a stretcher) so I'm counting it as a win.

I am unclear if it is because I am so grossly out of shape, or because my petite Latin dance teacher (a petiteacher if you will) wasn't letting up, but I spent the better part of 60minutes praying for mercy.  I employed all of the little tricks one does when they are grossly out of shape and need a quick break while keeping up the allusion they are not a chubby a-hole.  I fixed my pony tail, I stretched, I adjusted my shoe, and I even got water. Lots of water.  I haven't been that well hydrated in months.  And at some point, I gave up.  Its not what you think though.  I didn't throw in the towel- because frankly Becky and I hadn't been to the gym in so long we didn't know they moved the towels.  I just quit trying to get out of things and did them the best I could, and let me tell you a lot of the time my best was bad.  However at the end of class my bad hadn't gotten any worse, so I decided Zumba was a victory.  Sure the petiteacher gave me the stink eye after trip 12, 15, and 18 to my Nalgene bottle.  And yes I did accidentally punch Becky twice, which she has hopefully forgiven me for, but overall I'm going to go out on a limb here and say I would consider doing Zumba again.  Maybe.  O.k. I will.