Guess who acted like a toddler yesterday - and no, it wasn't the kids

Oy vey~

For about a month and a half, I've been going to the Tuesday night Zumba class with my friend Samantha [hi Samantha! :)]. One of the things I like most about Zumba is that you get very different experiences with different instructors, but you pretty much always get a great workout. Last night the instructor announced we'd be doing a new routine. It figures, I was juuuuust about to figure out the old one. No, really, I was cool with it because new routines keep it interesting.

The music starts and the first 10 minutes went well. These classes are always crowded and Samantha and I tend to stick to the back corner. It's closer for the EMT guys when I pass out from lack of oxygen or sheer exhaustion. I kid, I kid. Because the classes are so crowded, it's difficult to see what the instructor is doing from the back. It's certainly not like she moves around (like the Sunday instructor does) so that everyone gets a chance to see what she's doing. In no way does this motivate me to stand closer to the front. There are several people towards the front that have either been coming a long time or are just phenomenally talented. When I can't figure out what the heck the instructor is doing, I watch the 'regulars' and imitate the best that I can.

Here's the thing. Contrary to my overall grace-less-ness and klutziness, I usually do pretty well on a dance floor - especially for a large white girl. Right, Germany peeps?!? I'm certainly not perfection swaddled in workout clothes, but I do have some rhythm and I really enjoy dance type workouts (especially now that I'm to old to be going to da club unless it's 80's night). But I really need to be shown the steps once. Break 'em down for me. We are building on the same basic steps anyway, so taking 1 or 2 minutes isn't going to kill you. But this instructor is infamous (at least in my head) for not doing that. Like, ever. So I'm trying to follow along, the people around me are trying, the 'regulars' are trying and we are all failing miserably. As the hour progresses, I'm getting more and more aggravated. As we approach the 1/2 hour mark and I'm not even breathing hard or sweaty (because I don't know what the h-e-double hockey sticks she is doing up there) I start thinking unkind thoughts about our instructor. I see about seven or eight people leave and I see several people just standing there trying to figure out what in the world she is doing.

And then - AND THEN - she shows a couple of the regulars the routine for the song we just finished. Uhh...what is the point of that exactly? Are we going to repeat it? Did they pay you extra for info? What about the rest of us? I'm not on the Biggest Loser ranch here, I can't dedicate my entire day to working out (not that I would if I could) and to waste an hour that's usually a great workout when I'd be better off skipping through the garden and stopping to smell the monkey grass? Well it really, really ticked me off. And obviously, my attitude was not at it's best yesterday anyway, but still. GRRRRRRRRRRRRR. The selective lesson only lasted for the break in between songs, and then she went on to do another non followable (at least in my opinion at the time) routine that involved combinations of steps that would impress the Dancing with the Stars judges. Seriously? SERIOUSLY!?!?!?!?!??!?!?!

So I tell Samantha I'm done. I'm going home. She was surprised to hear that, I've always stuck with it and figured out at least part of the routines. She asked me to stay and at least watch, but I was determined to flounce out and so I did. Because, you know, I'm adult like that. I stomp off around the track and down the stairs, thinking that maybe I should stop by the front desk and helpfully let them know that just maybe the Zumba instructor should try INSTRUCTING the class when she totally changes the routines instead of being on her own Zumba planet and thinking that we going to be able to download the new routines from her brain. AS IF!

Wisely, for once, I keep my mouth closed and just march on out to my van. I do however have imaginary conversations with her all the way home. None of them pleasant. I'd put them on here, but you all would likely be shocked at my potty mouth, and frankly I'm a bit embarrassed that something like this got me so riled up yesterday. Before I got home, Samantha called and we agreed to try the Thursday class to see if it is any better. I'd be stunned if it were worse, that's for sure!