Back in the habit

Aside from being the subtitle of one of the greatest movies of all times, today's title is in honor of my recent revisit to the gym. You know, the one next door that I joined because I had spent a month remaking "Supersize Me"without the film crew on a whim.

It had been almost a week since my last trip when I headed over there a few hours ago. And while I promise I won't bore you with ALL my gym escapades. I will never calculate just how many gallons of sweat I produce, or how many times I get a wedgie when wearing Yoga-style pants, I do NEED you to know how AWKWARD my life is on days other than Thursday - so here we go.

Here's my evening, after selling my old dryer to total strangers off Craigslist. LOL.

* The percentage of men in my dance class doubled today, which means there were four of them. This was kind of awkward, since as I've probably mentioned, Zumba is a class designed as an excuse for women to shake their tail feathers profusely.

* When I realized there was a car parked outside the giant gym windows of our classroom for fifteen minutes, that escalated the situation to really awkward.

* But when the two guys in that car got out and started peering through the windows, that was unbelievably awkward. So much so that I kept looking at the girl next to me for reassurance I wasn't seeing things, but also to make sure I wasn't the only one messing up the steps. After all, creeps outside the window are no excuse for sloppy choreography.

* Being me, however, I don't have a ton of choice in the matter. I mean, I've tried to be clear from the get go that I'm actually no dancer at all. Sure, I took tap when I was three or so. But sadly that has not aided in my modern rhythmic abilities. I am no JLO, a fact I thought about as the creeps peered in (I was front and center by the side windows they were glaring through). It reminded me of the movie Shall We Dance, how Richard Gere is drawn to ballroom dancing by the music and JLO's tightly toned tushy... only these guys were not Richard Gere, and I, I am a Jenny, but not one from the block. Oh, and we weren't ballroom dancing. We were doing hip shakes to Mambo No. 5.

* Part of the fun of Zumba, though, and one of the reasons I think everyone (except maybe my dad; sorry Dad) should at least give it a shot, is that there is always, ALWAYS, a worse dancer there.

And I've said it before "comparison is the killer of joy," so I'm not gonna dwell, and I truly don't mean to be rude. But, when the really sweet looking girl in the neon pink shirt two pairs of tennis shoes down from you dances exactly like your father, particularly if your father is a rhythmically challenged Baptist minister who once made french fry shoot out a boy's nostrils with his "dancing skills" while playing the HSM3 game on the Playstation... it would be a waste not to have a tiny chuckle, right? And to say a quick "it COULD be so much worse." I could have had fry in my nose at the time. :)

* Actually though, my favorite dancers to watch aren't the ones with the best salsa moves. The ones you can tell were cheerleaders or Rockettes. They're the ones with the most charisma, the ones who seem to be having the most fun... like the little lady who always wears her matching white sweats and orthopedic shoes while shaking it at the front of the class. She is my hero, hands down. That chick has soul.

* Though it's awkward to admit, my other girl crush, though, is my Monday, Wednesday and Saturday Zumba instructor. This lady has got it going on. First off, she's a white girl named Shemane. Does it get better than that? And she's bubbly - but not in an obnoxious way - and looks like she could kill a 300 pound man with her bare hands or - to be crass - her "bobo cheeks" if that were possible.

Seriously though, she manages to look out at the mass of women - and four men - at various life stages, fitness levels and with incredibly varied dancing skills and smile. She doesn't laugh in our faces or look shamed by our spasm-like shaking, but genuinely smiles at us, a bunch of women - and four men - shaking what their mothers gave them. (My mom did NOT give me her dancing skills.)

* While Shemane is definitely ready for the cover of Shape magazine, it's amazing how much more IN shape everyone at a gym seems when you've just spent a week in bed, generally lounging around, and scarfing down half a pie (which happened 20 minutes before class). And by the way, Coke is totally the new milk. A bad choice. A very bad choice indeed. This became clear when I was sucking wind like a chain smoker, after one too many low kicks.

* While Zumba itself is innately awkward, there are a few moves that push it over the top. Particularly I'd imagine for the lone woman in the back wearing the full-length dress. I don't know how she got through without splitting her seams.

These moves include the epic pelvic thrusts, the hip swirls, the jumping lunges (where you end up sticking your behind in your neighbor's face) anything Beyonce has ever done in a music video, and my favorite, the "who farted tooted?" This incredibly attractive move involves swinging around in circles using your hands to fan the fumes from around your bum. (I taught this one to my parents, so if you wanna see it be sure and ask them for a demonstration. When you're not eating french fries of course.)

* Clearly, if I ever make it to a club or a non-Baptist type wedding, I am soooo gonna rock the dance floor.

* Only I probably won't be dancing with anyone from my gym. 'Cause while it turns out the gym is a great place to see cute boys. Whodathunkit? It is not at all a great place to meet really cute boys. At least not when you sweat 1.8 gallons an hour a lot like I do.

* And while I'm not sure if it was the sweat-drenched handshake, or the five o'clock shadow on my underarms shining in the moonlight while I shot free throws, for some reason there was no love connection with the youngish man I met this evening.

* It's for the best though. Who would ever want to go on a date with a boy who didn't have the decency to let you win at least one game of Knockout, Around the World, Horse or any of the other basketball games reserved for sixth-graders and socially awkward gym goers such as myself.

Anyways... aside from being WAY TOO MUCH INFORMATION, that was my reintroduction to working out, and also my way of saying, life is AWKWARD - but also a heckofalotta fun.

All in all not a bad time I'd say. Even if I did spend the first five minutes of my brisk walk on the treadmill with my headphones in, but the sound playing through my phone speakers. Oops. Hope the lady on my right really likes the cast of Glee.

And actually, that winning moment was better than when my phone went shooting off the back of the treadmill at rocket speed.

But nothing, at least nothing in a little while, has felt as good as getting my sweaty butt kicked at b-ball. I mean, the losing part kinda stunk actually. But at least it meant I was back in the game.

Or habit I mean.

Whatever it is, it feels awesome to be back.