At one time, I ran a blog called Fitterverse: A universe of fitness. This post originally appeared there. Thanks to the Wayback Machine, I’ve been able to recapture the text. I’ve published them here on their original publication dates.
I took a Zumba class. My testicles remain intact.
You wanna know something else? It was fun. It wasn’t as torturous as spin. The participants were friendly. The instructor looked like she was having a good time, too.
I still have no rhythm, and even less coordination. It matters a whole lot less than it did in step class, because you’re not expected to change elevation and you’re not worried about tripping on a step and falling flat on your ass. Instead you’re worried about bumping into the other participants. This will happen. Nobody cares as long as you don’t knock them down.
Seriously, it was a riot. I’m out there shaking what I got with everyone else in the room. We all look like idiots at various times, but I couldn’t help but notice how many people in the room were grinning through the sweat.