December 8, 2022
Ithaca, NY | 40°F



I have no rhythm. If you knew me, this wouldn’t be surprising. If you have ever read one of my stories, you probably aren’t surprised, either. I don’t dance. While rarely an icebreaker question, “What is a skill that every human has but you lack?” is the one I always prepare for, because I can not clap my hands to a beat, even if I’m in a group of people doing it, too.

Today I brought this lack of coordination to a whole new level when I went to my first Zumba class. Zumba is a high-energy dance workout. The class only had one male participant, which isn’t surprising because the dance moves are predominately done by females. At raves. While intoxicated.

At first I was overwhelmed by the amount of people in the room. I stood quietly on the outskirts of my friends, thinking of excuses to leave. After deciding to give it a try, though, paranoia set in. I assumed every laugh or giggle was at my expense, as I was “that kid” who kept continuing the jumping exercise after everyone else stopped. Worse, my arms could not follow my feet, and half of the time one part of my body would just stop all together, unable to do two things at once.

By the halfway point, I looked at my friend next to me, and she smiled. It was okay, her face conveyed; none of us know what’s going on, either.

I stopped caring about the other people in the room and decided to just go for it. I even attempted to stop thinking of every move as a calculation and just “feel” the music. It resulted in me almost falling over, but at least I tried.

Despite how horribly I did, I have already filled my planner with the classes I can fit in, because it’s a great work out and who am I kidding, I can use all the dancing help I can get.