zumba, Alica Mckenna-Johnson

Photo by ilovememphis

So my friends, or supposed friends who I work out with, wanted to try Zumba at our gym. It’s fun; I enjoy the music; the teacher has enough perky energy to run Disneyland, and in my head I look magnificent. Of course in my head I also still look 16.

So there I am bouncing around following the steps. I’m sure I looked like a drunk elephant, but in my head I’m graceful. Since I am totally willing to live in my own reality, everything was just fine. Until the teacher added a clap to the steps. In my head it didn’t seem like a big deal; however, in the cruel florescent light of reality, my brain stopped working when I tried to clap.

zumba, Alica Mckenna-Johnson

Photo by Cimm

I froze.

My feet twisted into some warped version of a salsa move with my arms flailing around my head. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t figure out how to do the steps. My poor brain was overtaxed with trying to convince me I really was looking like my sixteen-year-old self rocking the Zumba. All short circuited because of a single clap.

I laughed, what else was there to do? I shook my arms and legs, laughed again and began to do whatever weird concoction of moves the teacher put together, but I didn’t try to clap again.

Are you good at choreography-style workouts? Can you clap in the middle of a set of steps without frying your brain?