In an effort to keep working out consistently, I tried a new class on Saturday. I had intentionally not taken this class in the past. The name of it stood out off my gym's schedule, and I dismissed it as too gimmicky and quite frankly, maybe beneath me. (Good for me.) The class is called Tango Salsa Cardio. Not kidding. In my head, the class is pronounced in an exaggeratedly Antonio Banderas accent: "Tan-go y Saall-sa . . .Cardio!" I amuse myself every time I think of it. But I went on Saturday because, what the fuck already with me. The class is at a perfect time slot for me and judging by the name should play my most favorite music ever. So, Qual es mi problema already . . . ?
I arrived a little late to the class and much to my surprise (not sure why I was surprised), the class was PACKED. I had to find a tiny spot in the back corner. The instructor's name is Terri, a tall black woman that has the body of a track star (where she can reach over shoulder and pull her wallet from her back pocket), and I've actually taken a step class from her before. From what I remember, she teaches a really tough class; loud and bossy, but pushes you to aggravatingly new physical limits. She seems a tad crazy and pretty self absorbed - not in a look at me I'm perfect way -- but I'm kinda caught up in my own world and you better try to keep up with my routine. And the sister was wearing a wig. A medium-auburn with subtle highlights wig that was fastened in place by the madonnaesque microphone headset that instructors wear now. I was like, This lady is out of her gourd, and I really, really like that about her. I spot the favorite regulars immediately, front and center. A girl wearing a bandana and braids and a half top (there's always one of those), a former ballerina (you can tell by how she stands and rolls her pants down and her shirt up in a Fame kinda way) and the resident hot Latina that has almost Orange-Countied all the latina right out of herself. She's got the ass and the gorgeous face naturally, but the light blonde highlights and the bolt-on titties were disturbing. She was pretty in a way that she'd claw your eyes out if you even THINK you are finer than her.
I thought to myself, I so got this. Terri asked, "Anyone new to this class?" And through the forest of about 30-35 women, I shot my hand up from the back. She said, "Ok, well welcome," she looked around the class. "I am a very calm and demure teacher." The class roared with laughter. I chuckled and thought, Bring It On, Wiggy.
Basically the class is a standard dance class with latin flavor and if you have no dance background you are lost in the first nanoseconds. She taught a routine with ass-shaking, shimmying, hip-thrusting, sexy walking, . . . we all but ripped off our tops and threw them to the ground. And I could not have been more thrilled. I was like, THIS is my kind of class. I am not a technical dancer. I can't kick my leg near ear or do the splits on command, but I am gritty and sweaty and if anything, I can shake and shimmy and thrust and sexy walk some front-row bitches to blush. They ignored me, but when Terri told the class to check out the Ballerina for the ass-shaking portion of the program (apparently she's the best Ass Shaker) Terri said, "Wait, check her out (me). I like that!" I said, "MmHmm," and embarrassingly I may have smacked my own ass, but hey, I was in the moment. I have to say, I was completely winded after the many repetitions of the routine. As I gasped for air, I'd hear Terri yell again, "5! 6! 7! 8! . . ." I even sat out one of the many repetitions which for me is unheard of because there is not much I love more than to show off all my above-stated skills.
I was sorry after class. I was sorry that I ever doubted the class just because of the ridiculous name. I was sorry the class was over though I was drenched and in need of an oxygen mask. And I was sorry for the front-row favorites because once I have enough stamina, I'll be taking their spot.
Monday Morning Blues: Iced Bike
5 hours ago