I Zumba. A lot. If you are unfamiliar with Zumba, it is a Latin-inspired dance/workout class that is not for the faint of heart. For a lifelong dancer like me, Zumba is a dream come true. Four days every week I put on my dance pants and do my very best Shakira impression for 60 minutes at a time. This post is from a class I take at a nearby rec center. The class is filled mostly with older women who shake it far better than me. It’s a party—no lie. Until this point, I’d experienced one teacher and just loved her enthusiasm and energy. She’s great. This particular day, I experienced a new teacher.
The new teacher showed up late, looked like she had just woken up from a nap, put on her Zumba music and proceeded to lead us in a four minutes song of nothing but squats. I was pissed. This was not Zumba. I stuck it out and finished the squat song. As we moved on to the next song (my thighs yielding an uncomfortable burning sensation), the teacher began to count the music off incorrectly. The music obviously went 1-2-3-4-5-6-7-8. She yelled out "1-2-3-4-5-1-2-3-4-5". Then she began her very best samba which looked like a cross between the Tin Man and a little kid who needs to go to the bathroom. This lady was obviously a kick boxer (no offense to kick boxers who like to dance). This continued for a full hour. She looked bored most of the time and had the energy of a wet mop.
At first, I was really mad. Why was a lady who couldn’t dance teaching a dance class (of sorts)? When the class was finished, I realized I had still had a great time. If nothing else, it was fun to watch her. Who cares if the teacher can’t dance?