Zumbaland

Last night was my first attempt to reenter the world of excercise.  I made plans to attend the Zumba class at my gym; I had my husband to watch Nolan, I had dinner all arranged, I was all ready to go.  Until it came time to get myself to go to class. 


The adventure began with trying to find something to wear.  This was a daunting task.  Since giving birth I have refused to purchase any new clothing to fit me now.  I do not want one single reason to stay at my current weight.  All of my gym clothes seem fine to wear around the house on a day to day basis, but Zumba was not just around the house.  It was an organized fitness class in front of wall to wall mirrors and people. 

Now I understand that what I look like at the gym shouldn't matter.  I'm there to work out, not to impress anyone.  Normally I would fully agree but since I was going to be looking at myself the entire time, I wanted to look good...for myself.  So I put on some black yoga pants, a long black tank, and an American Apparel t-shirt.  I touched up my concealer, added a little blush, and even put on some lipgloss.  I thought I looked alright.  I left the house armed with my gym card, a bottle of water, and all the self-confidence I could muster.

Walking into the class I felt just fine.  The instructor was very sweet and unassuming and the class was a mixed bag of ladies from all different fitness levels.  I found myself a spot up front off to the side and started shaking my hips to the music.  Zumba was fun!  It wasn't difficult and I kept up just fine.  It was going great until I stopped watching the instructor and started watching myself in the mirror.  Let me tell you ladies, it was a major reality check.  I did not recognize myself.  I guess I have had this idea of what I look like stuck in my head and it didn't match up to the person looking and Zumba-ing back at me.  I was fat.  My outfit looked frumpy.  I had lost my rhythm.  Gone was the happy bouncy cheerleader.  I was reminded of what it felt like to be in junior high school where I was this curvy, well developed awkward girl in a sea of skinny minis.  Now this was all in my head mind you, no one made me feel this way but me.  None the less, it was discouraging.  I went back to watching the instructor and just gave it my all.

After the class was over I felt amazing.  I had a Zumba high and the endorphins were running rampant.  I was definitely going to go back.  I packed up my stuff and headed for the car.  On my way home, the endophins left my body and I was overcome with all of those feelings of discovering myself in the mirror.  I'm not going to lie; I cried.  At first it was just a little bit.  I felt so unattractive, quite possibly the most unattractive I have ever felt.  My the time I got home the few tears running down my cheeks had developed into full on sobing.  I pulled my car into the garage, gave myself a moment to wallow in my self pity before wiping my face, pulling up the proverbial bootstraps and going inside. 

I shared my adventure with my husband.  He told me I was beautiful.  That is took nine months to get to where I am and that change isn't going to happen over night.  He told me he loved me no matter what  I thought I looked like.  He was right and my moment of wallowing passed.  The important thing is that I am doing something about it.  I will go back to Zumba.  I will wear something that hopefully doesn't make me look so frumpy and I will definitely  wear more make-up.  But most importantly, I will wear a smile.  Because this is only the beginning.

(The picture of Nolan obviously has nothing to do with my post except that this is how I entertained him while I wrote it)