7.6.15
Other than 1-2 years (or more I really don’t remember) of childhood ballet, jazz, and tap, I have little dance history. I went to this class to shake up my workout routine. The aerobics floor was packed and I only caught glimpses of myself in the mirror, but what I could see was abysmal. I was so focused on the teacher, I forgot what I actually looked like during the routines. I absolutely didn’t mirror her fluid movements. I was stilted and awkward and off-beat and dizzy, but my heart was pumping and adrenaline (from the embarrassment) was flowing.
Me: I’m sorry I’m in front of you and you have to deal with my un-coordination.
Her: Oh, don’t even worry about it. I’m the same. I’m so busy trying to follow the teacher, I haven’t noticed anyone else.
Me: Sometimes, I have to stand here and laugh because I do not get these moves.
Her: Me too. It takes a minute to catch on.
Amidst the thumping bass and swirling hips, two white girls got their hip hop dance moves going. Well, I tried REALLY hard. It was difficult to follow along, not bump into anyone, keep the beat, loosen my shoulders, swivel my hips, and look natural. The only thing natural about me was the sweat.
Abigail Mumford 