When I was younger, I wanted to be one of the In Living Color Fly Girls. JLo had nothing to do with it. I wanted to dance like them. After failing miserably at the Running Man and the Roger Rabbit during a middle school dance, I begrudging admitted that I was no Martha Graham. Later in life, I found that copious amounts of alcohol would lubricate my hips and spine enough to bump and grind. Dancing for me has to be like sex - hot and steamy. Just give me someone to rub up against - male or female - and I'm off and dancing.
I've been trying to shake up my exercise routine of late. Three yoga classes, two kickboxing/body combat classes and miscellaneous hours of weight lifting per week have really toned up my flabby winter ass. I've managed to acquire two of the desired 6 pack muscles and I'm working on the other four. My new friend at the gym, Dollface, has pleaded with me to try the new DanceFit class. A former dancer herself, she promised me it's a fun workout and very easy to follow. Putting my skepticism aside, I agreed to try it. Who knows? Maybe my rhythm, like a fine wine, has matured with age. I did pose this question: How the hell am I suppose to dance in sneakers? I was use to swaying and dry humping in 4 inch heels. "Easy" she said. "You just buy some Foot Undeez"
As if sweating profusely and looking like a spastic ape on crack wasn't enough. Let's add a shoe that looks like a foot diaper.
DanceFit is taught by the same instructor who teaches kickboxing. A former bodyguard for Michael Jackson (before the controversy) and Jodi Whatley, this man can dance. He had joked around in previous kickboxing classes and busted out Jacksonish moves. He has talent and I was afraid I would be made to moonwalk. I donned my toe underwear and prepared for the worst.
I was relieved when the class started out with basic stretching and ballet positions. I though, "Hey, I can do this" as I plied with ease. It wasn't so horrible and I was feeling pretty good about my style. Suddenly, the music switched to "Pretty Young Thing" and the instructor busted out in a routine. Like any good teacher, he started with the basic steps and added on from there. Everyone else in the class was getting bits and pieces of it, laughing as they hopped from position to position. Dollface was mirroring him perfectly and looked like she was ready to tour with Britnay Spears. I stood there in my foot diapers panicking. I need a cocktail. Badly.
I managed to swallow the lump in my throat and willed my feet to move. They responded, but the rest of my body refused to follow. I moved with robotic, jerky motions that made it appear I had a pole rammed in my ass. If I got my feet to follow the complicated steps I was unable to follow the hand motions that made the routine complete. It was painful to watch. Add to this the fact that I was laughing uncontrollably. Yes, it was grotesque. I was always 4 steps behind, my turns were wobbly and my hand seemed to swat at the air instead of flow with each position.
I lack the basic coordination to follow instructions. I failed horribly at Zumba, was laughed out of Step Aerobics, and will not try Jazzercize. Because there is an element of raw, angry aggression, I can follow the moves in kickboxing and body combat. There is no dancing. Only the desire to maim and injure your imaginary opponent. Depending on my day, my opponent takes the form of many faces. The worse the day, the better my workout. I've had some really good imaginary sparring partners the past few weeks. But, there is no one to kill in DanceFit. There is only the slow drain of my self esteem and self-flagellation.
I will take the class again. I am determined to get it. I may or may not have a drink before hand. I will wear my foot panties (that's for you Casey) and look like I'm doing the Freddy. Why can't they make a class that works for my kinda dancing? I don't think they would put "Dry Hump Your Way to Fit" on the class schedule. I can't even get them to add pole dancing.