Monday Evening Fever

Last night the wife and I were at the gym for Cardio (cardiac) Jam; it’s similar to Zumba except that where Zumba is fluid and has a heavy Latino influence, Cardio Jam is more urban hip-hop. But I’m a fat, middle-aged white guy so it’s all the same to me; I can’t dance worth a shit no matter what the music is.

I’m not going to lie and say we’ve been every week, but I think I’ve been there seven out of the last ten, and the wife goes if she doesn’t have a game. And I am getting better, both in my stamina and, if not at “dancing” then at least at recognizing the movements. I’ll never look good doing the steps, but I can do them with more confidence now. And now that I’m getting the steps down, I can do them more enthusiastically and get a better workout.

When we first started, I would get frustrated with the transitions from one move to the next, and often spend more time trying to catch up than actually doing them. Plus, 20 minutes into the hour long class, I’d be huffing and puffing and having to take little breaks while everyone around me kept going (or so it seemed at the time.) Now I’m catching on quicker to the changes and can keep going longer between rests. And I’ve noticed some of the women struggle with the steps I’ve “mastered” (Ha!), and that makes me feel good.

Most of the time I’m the only guy in the class, which sounds like it’d be fun; watching all those ladies jumping and shaking and grinding and whatnot. But honestly, I don’t even pay much attention to it once the class starts. It’s just a bunch of bodies I have to be careful not to trip over. I mentioned this to Simplicity the other day and she said “Yea, but I bet all the women love having you in there for the eye-candy.” Simplicity is sweet, but honestly if I’m eye-candy, it’s the weird stuff you get from Japan Ten minutes in I’m sweating heavily; by the end of class I literally wring the sweat out of my shirt, and I have to take an extra one to change into so I don’t drench the upholstery on the car.

Last night there was another male in the class; he was younger than me, several inches shorter than me, and even more overweight than I am. If he’d been White, I would have given myself even odds that I’d do better than him; but he was Black, so he figuratively danced rings around me. I’m really not trying to be racist, and I know I shouldn’t stereo-type people, but seriously, as soon as I saw him I knew he’d be better at the moves than I am. And he was, hands down. He was a few people over and behind me, so I didn’t see him often, but when I did he was moving as fluidly and confidently as I don’t. If the women were going to consider anyone eye-candy, it would be him. (Yes, I’m a little jealous.)

And to make it worse, as we were leaving we passed him and one of the ladies from the class (after I’d gone into the restroom to wring out my t-shirt and change into a dry one). I overheard him say “Oh, that was just my first time in that class.” Mother fucker!