I have a really good friend who has "gently" encouraged me to give a dance/workout class a try. "Hip Hop Hustle" is quite the craze and although I have declined going to the class, I have watched several videos on YouTube. It looks like a really great workout that will melt the fat right off your body. Thinking I would give something a try before I actually performed dancing like this in public, I decided to purchase "Dance off the Inches - Red Hot Dance Party".
I closed all the blinds in the den, made my family leave the room and popped one of the discs into the DVD player. While the DVD was getting started, I looked at the girl on the front of the box. She looked like she was having the time of her life. She was skinny, wore cute clothes and even had several snazzy bracelets on. If I could look like her at the end of the series, it was well worth the $18.99!
The workout began with a warm-up geared towards learning the moves. Piece of cake! I didn't even break a sweat and felt like I was a natural born dancer. I thought to myself I should have never asked my family to leave, they might have enjoyed watching such skill and grace. I knew right away this was the workout for me! Where had this been all my life???
Then it happened......... the warm-up was over and the workout began.
Crossover, tap left, tap right, march in place, hands up, hands down, shake this, shake that, turn around...do WHAT with my hips? The carpet began to smoke from the friction of me trying to keep up with this insane woman who was moving her body in ways that would have made a sailor blush. Occasionally she would give the "and let's rest" command only for it to last a total of 2.5 seconds.
Her peppy and encouraging words began to gnaw at me, but I was too busy trying to figure my left from my right and how one arm would swing over another while the opposite leg was tipping and tapping. I realized right away I was in dance hell. The two girls in the back of the video were smiling and keeping up like she was doing a crawl. I, on the other hand, was pouring sweat and huffing like I smoked two packs of cigarettes a day. Did I mention I was in dance hell? Did I mention she was peppy and encouraging?
I made it through the first dance thinking the light at the end of the tunnel was nearing. No luck. It was right into the next one. No warm-up needed...let's just bust a move! The next dance was more of the same. Dance moves geared for women with the skill, moves and grace of the Solid Gold Dancers. Dance moves for women who had all their parts in the right place, not parts that were far south of were they had been at one time. More of the same...moves I clearly did not have and would not master while in dance hell. An interesting side note: I learned why sports bras were made and how I wished I had one at this very moment, but that's a whole other story.
Finally, we made it to the last workout when this little ball of fire said, "Now, we are going to take it up a notch!" Take it up a notch? Had this girl lost her mind? There were no more notches for me to take up! I was still trying to jump right, jump left, salsa to the front and tallyho to the beat of music created by some crazed madman . After being behind about 20 steps, the cool down finally began! I dropped to the floor, crawled to the DVD player and drew enough strength to press the best four letter word I had ever seen in my life S-T-O-P.
As I lay there in the floor in a heaping mess of sweat, I began to feel really good about myself. I had just made it through this torturous workout without snapping....without breaking any bones...without pulling any muscles and without hitting stop 2 minutes into the workout. I felt accomplished. I felt proud. Of course, it was probably the lack of oxygen that caused my irrational thinking.
Dancing with the Stars will not be calling, I'll never dance on Broadway and I'll most likely never be on the cover of a workout DVD (coffee connoisseur DVD, maybe...workout...not so much.)
One day, maybe I'll get my groove...until then I'll just stick with the treadmill!