Jorge is a middle-aged latino man who wears glasses. He wore bright orange exercise pants and used the key word "vamos" to move us from exercise to exercise. He does lead a mean routine. And I loved it!
One of his tricks, I think, is to avoid stopping between songs. He's got the music lined up so that the transitions between songs are barely long enough to grab a sip of water. Cardio is huge, but he intermixes it with a few strength moves and songs to slow down the heart rate after making it race. Additionally, he's got rhythm.
The best part was that Jorge incorporated truly traditional Latin steps--many of the same ones I saw in Guatemala during public dance displays. In Guatemala, the dancers were often in costume. Whether they dressed as a monster or a cartoon character, the costumes are top notch, and the group is practiced. They dance like the music is their pulse, their feet barely moving the ground as they maintain the rapid rhythm. The result is that is looks incredibly smooth and intoxicating, full of energy that seems like it can hardly be maintained or contained.
Having a chance to try out some of these steps was an absolute blast. Intertwined with the occasional jumping bursts of energy, zumba like this is well worth my time.
And yes, I was a little sore the next day.
Showing posts with label exercise. Show all posts
Showing posts with label exercise. Show all posts
Sunday, February 05, 2012
Monday, January 30, 2012
Zumba
I took the plunge last week and purchased a 10-session pass to our local Zumba studio. Located a convenient 1 minute, 30 seconds drive away, this location caters to my inexplicable need to never arrive early at anything casual (and thus, through a variety of extenuating circumstances, means I'm routinely late).
Having already picked up the paperwork, I chatted with two other newbies who were filling out the forms as I waited to get my card. They had the great idea of checking out all local Zumba studios and selecting the top one based on price, instructors, comfort, and classes. I felt momentarily guilty for not having that brilliant thought, but quickly dismissed it when I remembered how much I loathe shopping for anything and how much dealing with details taxes me these days. Plus, the convenient location...well, I can't go wrong.
Nearly thirty or forty women bounced along with our smiling instructor. I found myself frequently wearing a smile, too, as we did a little salsa move here (thank you, Arthur Murray) or a little bit of Cuban walks there (another check for the dance classes) to songs like "Livin' La Vida Loca." The hip movements and shoulder shimmies, on the other hand? My smile veiled my laughter at my inability to move that way with any sort of decorum or rhythm. A good reason to have located myself at the back of the class. Still, I have to admit, I enjoyed it thoroughly. Surprisingly, I wasn't terribly tired after the hour-long session.
I found out at my next class from a well-informed participant that the rigorous workouts are with Jorge. I find myself anticipating this next instructor, the one who leaves your calves sore two days later and knows how to keep a dancer's rhythm.
Having already picked up the paperwork, I chatted with two other newbies who were filling out the forms as I waited to get my card. They had the great idea of checking out all local Zumba studios and selecting the top one based on price, instructors, comfort, and classes. I felt momentarily guilty for not having that brilliant thought, but quickly dismissed it when I remembered how much I loathe shopping for anything and how much dealing with details taxes me these days. Plus, the convenient location...well, I can't go wrong.
Nearly thirty or forty women bounced along with our smiling instructor. I found myself frequently wearing a smile, too, as we did a little salsa move here (thank you, Arthur Murray) or a little bit of Cuban walks there (another check for the dance classes) to songs like "Livin' La Vida Loca." The hip movements and shoulder shimmies, on the other hand? My smile veiled my laughter at my inability to move that way with any sort of decorum or rhythm. A good reason to have located myself at the back of the class. Still, I have to admit, I enjoyed it thoroughly. Surprisingly, I wasn't terribly tired after the hour-long session.
I found out at my next class from a well-informed participant that the rigorous workouts are with Jorge. I find myself anticipating this next instructor, the one who leaves your calves sore two days later and knows how to keep a dancer's rhythm.
Saturday, June 12, 2010
Dancing Friday Nights Away
I walked into the studio tonight with my red flip flops on my feet, ready to change into my black, semi-strappy dance shoes. My dress swished from side to side, perfect for fun little spins. Once again, I was impressed by the number of people decked out in costumes: tonight, flapper dresses, little bowling hats, and suits conveyed the atmosphere of the Roaring '20s along with the shimmering streamers and Charleston-inspired dance music every now and again.
My dance instructor quickly found me to tell me his good news: an agent is interested in his book! Thrilled, I listened to the details as he animatedly told me his plan to meet deadline. His book-writing process has become a bit of a vicarious experience for me as I've been privileged enough to hear the full story line, listen to the soundtrack (cool idea, huh?), and read a few of the chapters to help edit. Engrossed in the discussion of revisions, I nearly missed the call for the Viennese Waltz. But it was the same song they play nearly every week, the one that a friend despises because it reminds him of a Merry Go-Round. Tonight, though, I shook off the normal eye-role induced by the music and interrupted the conversation because I was on a mission: dance.
Sure enough, my Viennese Waltz instructor was in period wear and not yet taken for the dance. Before I knew it, I was rocking with him to feel the beat and then lickety-split, off we were spinning around the dance floor. If anything at ground level can rival flying, this dance has got to be it. The movement is so quick, the heel step step, back step step, rotate around your partner and the dance floor all at the same time--it's exhilarating. And tiring. I was breathing like I'd just run for five or ten minutes when we finished, but I was glad I had made it through without causing either one of us to stumble and fall. What a way to warm up! I think this is my new favorite dance, even though two lessons in it doesn't quite make me a pro.
With forty-five minutes left, I was eager to dance as much as possible. I danced the waltz with my regular instructor, the rumba with my good ol' buddy Lee (I tried to practice my Cuban hip motion), the hustle with the man who is actually a bit shorter than I am. I was reminded while dancing the cha cha with a teenager that my Latin dances have seen little improvement lately, which was confirmed when I tried salsa with my usual waltz partner. In between dances, it was fun to chit chat with friends, most female, since there is a shortage of men at these things. And then, after a rough swing dance or two, the party was over.
I'll certainly miss going every Friday night. I just might have to search for Latin dancing in Guate.
My dance instructor quickly found me to tell me his good news: an agent is interested in his book! Thrilled, I listened to the details as he animatedly told me his plan to meet deadline. His book-writing process has become a bit of a vicarious experience for me as I've been privileged enough to hear the full story line, listen to the soundtrack (cool idea, huh?), and read a few of the chapters to help edit. Engrossed in the discussion of revisions, I nearly missed the call for the Viennese Waltz. But it was the same song they play nearly every week, the one that a friend despises because it reminds him of a Merry Go-Round. Tonight, though, I shook off the normal eye-role induced by the music and interrupted the conversation because I was on a mission: dance.
Sure enough, my Viennese Waltz instructor was in period wear and not yet taken for the dance. Before I knew it, I was rocking with him to feel the beat and then lickety-split, off we were spinning around the dance floor. If anything at ground level can rival flying, this dance has got to be it. The movement is so quick, the heel step step, back step step, rotate around your partner and the dance floor all at the same time--it's exhilarating. And tiring. I was breathing like I'd just run for five or ten minutes when we finished, but I was glad I had made it through without causing either one of us to stumble and fall. What a way to warm up! I think this is my new favorite dance, even though two lessons in it doesn't quite make me a pro.
With forty-five minutes left, I was eager to dance as much as possible. I danced the waltz with my regular instructor, the rumba with my good ol' buddy Lee (I tried to practice my Cuban hip motion), the hustle with the man who is actually a bit shorter than I am. I was reminded while dancing the cha cha with a teenager that my Latin dances have seen little improvement lately, which was confirmed when I tried salsa with my usual waltz partner. In between dances, it was fun to chit chat with friends, most female, since there is a shortage of men at these things. And then, after a rough swing dance or two, the party was over.
I'll certainly miss going every Friday night. I just might have to search for Latin dancing in Guate.
My book-writing dance instructor
My fellow educator friends
My fellow ministry friend
(I really wanted to get more pics, but the instructor meeting was taking too long and some of my regular dance friends weren't there tonight. :( Oh well. Memories will work!)
Saturday, July 26, 2008
Lookin' Out for the Ladies
So, I've finally decided to hit the gym. Again. After more or less taking the summer off (of course I've had various excuses--lower back pain, being out of town, sleeping in, watching TV), I've once again realized, thanks to my body's excellent fat-storage mechanisms, how much I need to get back in the routine. Especially with school starting. Nothing like the thought of standing in front of 160 strangers to make you want to feel your best, most intimidating self.
My first day back this week I decided to take it easy. Why push 30 minutes on the elliptical? 25 is plenty. Why run a full circuit of weights? Only the biceps need major work right now. I don't want to get too committed yet, especially when I know commitment is not my greatest strength.
As I pulled down the lateral bicep machine, thinking Hey, this isn't so bad after all, two burly men began working out on the machine next to me. Not at the same time, of course; they obviously learned their sharing lesson in kindergarten.
It's always funny to me to hear the conversation between two men at the gym. It's usually about how built they're going to be in a couple of weeks or how many pounds they pressed last time or what sorts of enhancers or energizers they're using. Like today, for instance. I overhead--which wasn't hard, considering he was practically yelling it to the whole gym--a guy's entire plan for getting built and how confident he was in his program's success. His friend amiably agreed and continued to pump up his ego. **Sigh.**
These comments that first night, however, ran a little differently. Macho guy #1 sat down and pounded out his butterfly press reps. Macho guy #2 sat down and began his reps. Struggling, half way through, though, he yelled, "S***! Whatch'ou have this set on?" (I love a man who admits his own weakness.) I had to chuckle. Macho guy #1, seeing me laughing, chided his buddy: "Hey, now, watch your mouth around the ladies!" then turned to me to apologize for his profane friend. Wow, I thought to myself, what a blast from the past! Imagine the recurrence of a concern for ladies' "delicate" ears? However, something about his goofy manner made it clear that it was less a genuine concern and more a jocular statement made to pull me into the conversation.
Not biting, I got up and left after finishing my own set of reps. With such an entertaining memory to welcome me back to the gym world, I think it's time for the gym excuses to fade away.
My first day back this week I decided to take it easy. Why push 30 minutes on the elliptical? 25 is plenty. Why run a full circuit of weights? Only the biceps need major work right now. I don't want to get too committed yet, especially when I know commitment is not my greatest strength.
As I pulled down the lateral bicep machine, thinking Hey, this isn't so bad after all, two burly men began working out on the machine next to me. Not at the same time, of course; they obviously learned their sharing lesson in kindergarten.
It's always funny to me to hear the conversation between two men at the gym. It's usually about how built they're going to be in a couple of weeks or how many pounds they pressed last time or what sorts of enhancers or energizers they're using. Like today, for instance. I overhead--which wasn't hard, considering he was practically yelling it to the whole gym--a guy's entire plan for getting built and how confident he was in his program's success. His friend amiably agreed and continued to pump up his ego. **Sigh.**
These comments that first night, however, ran a little differently. Macho guy #1 sat down and pounded out his butterfly press reps. Macho guy #2 sat down and began his reps. Struggling, half way through, though, he yelled, "S***! Whatch'ou have this set on?" (I love a man who admits his own weakness.) I had to chuckle. Macho guy #1, seeing me laughing, chided his buddy: "Hey, now, watch your mouth around the ladies!" then turned to me to apologize for his profane friend. Wow, I thought to myself, what a blast from the past! Imagine the recurrence of a concern for ladies' "delicate" ears? However, something about his goofy manner made it clear that it was less a genuine concern and more a jocular statement made to pull me into the conversation.
Not biting, I got up and left after finishing my own set of reps. With such an entertaining memory to welcome me back to the gym world, I think it's time for the gym excuses to fade away.
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