Zumba time

I took my first Zumba class today. Nothing I do here ever seems to be as straight forward as it looks. The time of the class should have been a give away. 9.30am. An innocent enough time. But this is the time when the olds take over the asylum. Those who have their own teeth and hips are at work and the only people left to take classes are over 90s. This wasn't Zumba, this was Zimmer.

God only knows the collective age of all the sweaty hoo hoo's in that dance studio. As a relatively young person, taking a class designed for the old, you feel like you're working out in slow motion. I barely broke a sweat and that was probably due to embarrassment rather than exertion.

But don't think just because this class was targetting the Jurassic, it didn't have it's fair share of whooping and a-hollering. And it wasn't a one off thing either. Just when you thought it'd all stopped, an old Latina behind me would chirp up. "Yeah!. Whoooo!"

I tried to make the work out a little bit more high impact but because I don't know the moves, I just ended up flailing around like I was being attached by a vindictive bee so I decided to just do the Zimmer as the instructor intended.

At the end, during the barely distinguishable "cool down" I decided that I needed to run or something. When the objective of your class is not to accelerate your brittle bone decay, I knew it wasn't the right class for me.

I went back to the gym and did a bit of spinning next to a man in fluorescent orange and yellow Lycra, dark glasses who was "dancing" on his bike.

I genuinely don't know why I ever feel self conscious and that people are staring at me in the gym when there's characters like this around.