Zumba Diaries

The New Year’s risk-it-for-the-biscuit mentality had not worn off yet so I walked into the Unknown Class last night at the gym.

I might not have been so bold except that the other students in the class didn’t appear to have any of that Fearful Equipment of Specialized Gym Classes whereby you’re never quite sure what they do with those hot pink bars and purple elastic bands and bright blue balls? (Question, why are the accoutrements of ladies’ gym classes always in the color palette of a Lisa Frank pencil case?) (Question the second: What if you think they’re just going to use the pole to balance because you wrongly assume this is tightrope class only to discover within minutes that they do other things around the pole, things for which you are wholly unqualified, WHAT THEN?) (Even if you did own a Carmen Electra DVD once upon a time, which is neither here nor there.)


The teacher for this class queued up the samba music and that’s how I knew this was Zumba. I’ve Zumba-ed before, but by all means, please make an example out of me, Zumba Guru, in front of the class of 45 female strangers. “WHERE’VE YOU TAKEN ZUMBA? OH! A DANCE STUDIO? WHERE? OH. NOT CLOSE TO HERE?” Like when did jazzercise get name-droppy?

This teacher was super body positive and had most likely snorted a long line of cocaine before class because I have never seen a body move like this, at least not a body that did not belong to Sonic the Hedgehog (after he did a long line of cocaine, obvi). This class was very, very fast-paced but the lights were kept low. I don’t know if the romance lighting was to enhance the whole body positivity or just add to the samba ambience (sambience?) but it did not keep me from almost decking a group of middle schoolers. And not to be all Mean Girls but who let the middle schoolers in? I would prefer only to jiggle around in public with other women who tinkle a little bit when they laugh or women who own a whole drawer of product labeled “age-defying.”

The class was an hour long which was good since if left to my own devices, I will Zumba for four minutes until I feel my deodorant start to work and then I’ll sit down and start unfollowing all the youngsters on Instagram who don’t own any age-defying products, all while keeping that Zumbatastic beat, of course.

After the hour, it was hard to decide what my favorite Zumba moves were. Was it when I accidentally punched myself in the face and my glasses proceeded to rest slightly askew on the bridge of my nose for the rest of class Now…Grapevine! or was it when I proceeded to do the hip thrust in the wrong direction every single time so that it looked like maybe I was trying to partner dance? Cumbia! Oh oh, I know. I think it was when I got a crick in my neck from whipping it so hard in the manner of Sonic the Hedgehog that I Zumba-limped my way right into a hot bath when I got home. Boom, Pop pop pop, wowww!

About The Author


Kendraspondence is the personal mischief of Kendra Stanton Lee.
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