Getting back into previously worn skinny jeans either post baby or post workout-boycott is never an easy task. Very few exercise programs have proven to be able to hold my attention for the duration of actually achieving the skinny-jeans-and-booty-shorts physique I desire. My arsenal of workout tapes, programs, and equipment reveal much about my insecurities about my physical appearance. It also proves that I am a sucker for an infomercial...I beleive every claim, however silly or crazy it may be. Nonetheless, I want any and all workout routines, programs, machines and the like. Variety is the key to life, right? Lt Hubby claims that I am simply obsessed...I'd actually like to think that I'm an avid believer in health and wellness and appreciate having a vast variety of options at my disposal...or I have a slight disorder. Whatever. Potatoe, potahto.
Since Lt Hubby insists on censoring and monitoring my purchasing power when it comes to (everything!) exercise paraphernalia, I have many options taking up residence on my "to purchase one day" list. Until money starts falling out of my butt (or I start roaming our streets at night adorned in my stripper heels), I am forced to request my desires for birthday and Christmas gifts. One such request resulted in me being the proud owner of the Zumba workout program! I was so excited! I was convinced that after successfully completing this program, I would indeed resemble one of those saucy Zumba workout chicas (as a side note, this is how every single infomercial sucks me in. I am always convinced that I am going to look like on of those sex kittens flaunting their stuff in the ad.)
Not everything in my head, however, plays out like I envisioned. I've never been one that has possessed a strong musicality when it comes to body movement in conjunction with intentional dance. But it's not for a lack of trying! I desperately want to display grace in movement, rhythm, and sexy on-trend dances. What plays out in my brain, however, doesn't translate to my hips...or feet...or general body movements. Don't get me wrong, I can race to the death, beat down a punching bag, and hold my own in a push-up and pull-up challenge. But I can't "shake my groove thing" in an intentionally sexy way. Think Elaine from Seinfeld....that's the image I create...so perfectly wrong and awkward that it almost looks right in a weirdly, off-beat and uncoordinated kind of way. Yep...that's exactly what I look like...a blonde haired Elaine-dancing fool. And I foolishly thought I looked somewhat ok until my overly honest minion informed me otherwise. Devastating? Yes! Embarrassing? Obviously! Not only was my ego scarred so were the eyes of my unsuspecting boys as they unknowinglymoseyed down the stairs. I'm sure the image of their mother trying to Reggaeton, Salsa, and Merengue was burned into their brains for evermore! These hips weren't made for dancing!
So until I can finally figure out how to translate movement that's in my head to the rest of my body, I will keep my dancing to the confines of my basement and only when there is no other person in the house. As long as I'm blissfully unaware of (and no one witnesses) my inability to perform the correct moves, I think I should continue to shake my groove thang as best as I can. Unless there's an uber sexy, hot dancer out there that wants to volunteer his time in helping me get my hips in sync...I'm probably on my own.
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